


Every Odd Year

by chattrekisses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, College, Cute, Cute Ending, Cute Kids, Dean/Cas Big Bang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Dorks in Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay, High School, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kissing, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Roommates, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Surprise Kissing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 21:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chattrekisses/pseuds/chattrekisses
Summary: When Dean meets Castiel at the age of nine, his he already been through more than any child should have to bear. But Cas is just what Dean needs to start to heal and for years they are the center of each others worlds. But when Dean's demons lead him to betray his friend, everything is torn apart. With time and a little help from meddling meddling friends and siblings, can Dean and Cas find their way back to each other?Told in a series of vignettes from every odd year of Dean and Castiel's young lives, this is a story of overcoming your past to discover your future and the love and heartache along the way.





	1. Nine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first time posting for the DCBB, and I'm so very excited, so I hope you enjoy what this crazy journey created. Let me know what you think by leaving me a comment or a kudos! (Please, I am desperate for validation. I am a very sad, sad soul who survives only for Destiel.)
> 
> Some people I need to thank: My amazing artist Aggie, who created such beautiful art for this story, and my betas Kelly, Kira, and Andrea. Thank you to the moderators for supporting me and my fabulous partners on this wild ride.
> 
> I hope you love reading this as much as I loved writing it!

9

In the beginning, they were nine. It was Halloween, 1988.

 

“Sam! Where are you?” Dean shouted. He sighed and grabbed the lump of brown fabric Sam had left on the counter. “Sam! Don’t you want to get ready before Gabriel gets here?”

 

Dean laughed when he heard the frantic scurrying of tiny feet as his five-year old brother barreled around the corner into the kitchen. “Gabe?” Sam said, voice hopeful.

 

“Not yet. You need to get ready first,” Dean said, holding up the brown costume. “I still can’t believe you’re going as a moose,” he muttered, voice amused.

 

It was their first Halloween in this sleepy little town, and Sam had already befriended his six-years-his-senior neighbor and insisted that Gabriel take him trick-or-treating. As much as Dean yearned to join them––he was only nine after all, a perfectly acceptable age to go trick-or-treating––he hadn’t gone trick-or-treating since his mom died, and he knew someone needed to watch the house and give out candy.

 

“Moose are cool!” Sam insisted, stomping his foot with a pout.

 

“Yeah, sure Sammy.” Dean grinned and ruffled Sam’s hair fondly. “C’mon, let’s get you ready.”

 

Sam smiled and, grabbing the costume, ran up the stairs, with Dean hot on his heels. Sam stumbled to reach his room before Dean and succeeded, slamming the door shut behind him. Dean laughed again. “Sam! You better be getting dressed in there!”

 

Sam responded only with a giggle, and Dean leaned against Sam’s door, tapping his foot impatiently. He thumbed at the amulet Sam had given him last year, the only piece of jewelry he would be caught dead in.

 

Life for the Winchesters was tough, but they seemed to have finally caught a break. After their mother, Mary, died, they had moved from place to place, always running from whatever mess their father left behind. John was a hunter, chasing an arsonist named Azazel who left a string of deadly fires behind that matched Mary’s own murder. Finally, it had gotten to the point where Dean was worried enough for Sam’s safety with their alcoholic, abusive, mentally unhinged father that he hitchhiked with his brother across the country to Sioux Falls to stay with their uncle, Bobby Singer. Bobby lived in a big wooden house on the edge of town and ran his own car salvage yard. He was surly and a bit of a recluse, but he took them in with open arms, and Dean and Sam were the happiest they had been in a long time. On their first day at Bobby’s, Sam had run over to greet their neighbors, a family of four with a single dad, and immediately latched onto Gabriel, the oldest of the bunch. Dean had unpacked instead, because someone needed to, and his five-year-old brother didn’t even have the attention span to put on both socks. Today, he would be meeting them all to deem whether they were worthy to take his little brother trick-or-treating.

 

“Sammy, are you done getting dressed?” Dean asked.

 

“Yes!” Sam chirped.

 

“Okay, I’m coming in!” Dean said. He opened the door and stepped into Sam’s room, watching for a moment as Sam struggled to get his antlers to stay on his head. “Sam,” Dean said, “do you need some help with that?”

 

“No,” Sam insisted, puffing his cheeks up in exertion as he tried to make them stay. When they slid off the third time, Sam pouted in defeat. “Yes,” he muttered.

 

“Alright then, c’mere.” Sam trundled over to him and Dean took the antlers from him. Dean carefully placed them on Sam’s head so his mass of thick brown hair didn’t force the antlers off. After a few more moments of fiddling, Dean let go and they stayed on Sam’s head. “Great. Okay. Do you need a nose or something?”

 

Sam shrugged, so Dean grabbed a black marker from Sam’s desk and drew a nose on Sam. He stopped for a moment, marker poised to draw more. “Do moose have whiskers?” he asked. Sam shrugged again, so Dean added them for good measure.

 

“There, done,” Dean said, capping the marker.

 

“Do you think that Gabriel will be here soon?” Sam asked. He was bouncing now, from pent-up excitement, and Dean had to feel bad for Gabriel. That boy didn’t know what was coming once his brother ingested sugar.

 

“I think so,” Dean said. “Hey, Sam? Does Gabriel have any siblings my age?”

 

Sam nodded vigorously. “Yep! Castiel is nine, Anna is ten, and Gabriel is eleven!”

 

“Castiel,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Is he nice?”

 

“Castiel is very smart and he likes bees,” Sam informed him.

 

“Bees?” Dean asked, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Yes, bees,” Sam stated.

 

“Yeah, okay then.” Dean dismissed that strange tidbit of information as the perplexing ramblings of a five-year old. “D’ya want some Skittles, Sammy?”

 

“Yes!” Sam shouted, then took off, running out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen, Dean close behind. Dean pulled the bowl of candy off of the counter, shifting through the Snickers and Pixy Sticks until he found what he was looking for. Dean handed the candy to Sam, who eagerly ripped open the package. Sam was stuffing Skittles in his mouth when he heard someone knock on the door.

 

“Gabriel!” Sam shouted, dropping the open packet of Skittles on the floor and running towards the front door.

 

“Sam- Sammy! Crap.” Dean started, then eyed the mess of Skittles on the hardwood floor. Dean made a noise of annoyance and dropped to the ground to pick up the candy.

 

In the other room, Sam rattled the door handle noisily. Dean heard the door swing open and hit the wall, and he shot up.

 

“Sam! Ask who it is first!” Dean yelled, quickly throwing the Skittles in the trash and running to the door. He rounded the corner in time to see Sam throw his arms around a brunette boy a couple of inches taller than Dean.

 

“Gabe!” Sam grinned. The older boy smiled down at Sam and ruffled his hair affectionately.

 

“Sammy-kins!” Gabriel said. “What’re you dressed as?”

 

Sam pulled away from the hug and placed his hands on his hips, puffing his chest proudly to expose his costume in all its glory. “A moose!”

 

Gabriel pressed the palm of his hand against his mouth, trying to stifle his giggles. “That’s… downright adorable, Sam.”

 

Sam flushed. “Moose aren’t adorable… they’re… they’re powerful!” Sam insisted with a frown.

 

A smile spread across Gabe’s face, and he knelt so he was on level with Sam. “Moose can be powerful and adorable, Sammy. You more than prove that,” Gabe said. Standing up, he turned to Dean, holding out his hand. Sam watched him, cheeks red. “Hiya, I’m Gabe!”

 

“Dean,” Dean said, shaking Gabe’s hand firmly.

 

“Are we gonna wait out here or can we be introduced too?” came a girl’s voice.

 

Gabe rolled his eyes, and Dean stepped closer, peering out the door. On the doorstep stood a girl and a boy.

 

“Dean,” Gabe said. “These are my siblings, Anna and Castiel.”

 

Anna had red hair that dipped just below her shoulder, dark, intense eyes, and a smile meant for war. She looked dangerous, like a brightly colored snake, and if she bit you, it was your fault. Her presence was warning enough. And while Dean knew he should be enraptured by her, boys liked beautiful girls,  his father had repeatedly reminded–– and she was perfect, truly –– she wasn’t what Dean was looking at.

 

He was looking at eyes. Specifically, the crystal blue ones of the raven-haired boy in front of him. Those eyes… they held galaxies and wonders and secrets. Dean felt frozen where he stood, like he had grown roots to keep from moving away from that electric gaze.

 

Castiel was striking. Ruffled pitch-black hair, smaller and leaner than Dean, but swallowed in an enormous tan trench coat.

 

“What are you supposed to be?” Dean asked.

 

Everyone else had an obvious costume. Sam was a moose, Anna was Ariel (how she wasn’t freezing in that outfit was beyond Dean), Gabe was a magician, and Dean was nothing. But Castiel had the strangest, most uncoordinated costume Dean had ever seen. He was wearing the wrinkled trench coat, a white button-up with a dark blue tie, and pressed dress pants. If it was only that, Dean would have thought he was dressed as an awkward accountant, but Castiel also had a pair of massive angel wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. They were lovely yet Dean was struck by their inherent _wrongness_. They were as dark as melted shadows, greasy and matted to the point that Dean wanted to sit Castiel down and straighten every feather. By some miracle though, Castiel seemed to make it work. He looked intense and awkward and so appealing and adorable that Dean just wanted to wrap him up in a big hug.

 

“I’m an angel,” Castiel said.

 

Dean whistled. “I’d say so.”

 

Everyone stopped and looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Actually, that would have been a pretty great costume.

 

Dean felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I’m kidding! Obviously…” he muttered.

 

Everyone else was still looking at him strangely, except for Castiel, whose eyes were crinkling in delight. Dean nearly jumped when he heard Castiel let out a very indelicate snort.

 

Castiel stuck out his hand to Dean, his palm small and milky white. “I think we’re going to get along swell. I’m Castiel Novak.”

 

_What kind of kid uses the word swell?_

 

Dean shook his hand, his voice choked and stilted. “Hi.”

 

Dean feared a silence might follow his awkward reply, but luckily his little brother had no patience nor tact. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Candy!” he cheered, running out the door. Gabe and Anna followed him, but Castiel remained on the doorstep with Dean.

 

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Are you coming with us?”

 

Dean swallowed and shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m handing out candy this year.”

 

“Why?” Castiel asked.

 

“Uncle Bobby’s a bit of a recluse, and someone needs to do it,” Dean said.

 

“What about your parents?”

 

“Oh. Uh… my mom’s dead, and my dad… well-” Dean said, rubbing his arm uncomfortably.

 

“You don’t have to finish. It’s okay. I’m sorry,” Castiel said. His voice was level, but his eyes were understanding. His voice was a little wistful when he continued. “I wish you could come with us.”

 

“Oh!” Dean smiled, surprised. “Me too, I guess.”

 

“Well, you could… um… if you put the candy in a bowl and left it outside, you could come with us. Only if you want to, though!” Castiel said. Dean smiled at the nervousness in Castiel’s tone. It was adorable. No, no, not adorable, Castiel was a _boy_ , he was not adorable. Just… Dean could relate to his nervousness.

 

“I’d like that.” Dean smiled. “Hold on a sec.”

 

He ran into the kitchen, grabbed the bowl of candy and turned over an old grocery list, quickly scrawling a _Take one please!_ in his barely legible handwriting. He taped it to the bowl and sprinted back to the door. He dropped the bowl on the doorstep and locked the front door behind him.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=4k8lj6)  


“That was surprisingly fast,” Castiel commented, raising his eyebrows.

 

Dean puffed his cheeks and stuffed his hands in his pockets boyishly. “Shut up.”

 

Castiel snickered and started walking, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Dean was following him.

 

Obviously, Dean was. Like he’d leave those blue eyes.

 

“So, what’s it like here?” Dean asked, gesturing vaguely. “I haven’t gotten the chance to meet many people yet.”

 

Castiel frowned almost imperceptibly. “Do you play sports?”

 

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, sometimes? I haven’t stayed long enough in one place to join any teams.”

 

“You look like you could play sports,” Castiel said.

 

“Um… thanks?” Dean said. “What does that have to do with this?”

 

“This town… it’s nice. If you’re normal. If you’re sporty and do what’s expected of you.”

 

“I get the feeling that’s not you,” Dean said.

 

Castiel sighed. He was far too morose for a nine-year old. “I don’t see the appeal of tossing a ball back and forth.”

 

“Then what do you like?” Dean asked.

 

“Science,” Castiel grinned. “I like bees. They’re fascinating. And moose… it’s cool that you added the vibrissae to your brother’s costume.”

 

“Vibrissae?” Dean asked, eyebrows drawing together.

 

“The whiskers,” Castiel explained. “That you drew on Sam? Not a lot of people remember those.”

 

Dean decided not to mention the fact that he had no idea that moose really did have whiskers.

 

“I also like languages. Dialects. Stuff like that. I’m trying to learn Latin, but it’s really hard,” Castiel said sheepishly.

 

“You’re nine,” Dean said, eyes wide. _Latin?_ Dean couldn’t even _spell_ language. Probably. He hadn’t tried.

 

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “I like strange things, so I don’t have a lot of friends,” he admitted, frowning, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

 

“I’ll be your friend,” Dean said.

 

Castiel balked. “Oh, no, no. I wasn’t fishing for friendship or anything,” he rushed to say. “Honestly, I wasn’t even expecting you to talk to me at school-”

 

“I’ll be your friend,” Dean said again, firmer this time.

 

“No, that’s not… that’s not a good idea,” Castiel muttered. He sighed and Dean felt something stutter inside of him as Castiel reached down and lifted his shirt up a couple of inches. His pale stomach was painted in purple and blue bruises. “I’m weird… so I get treated like it.”

 

Dean’s mouth screwed up and he felt himself boil in anger. Suddenly, the outline of the knife Dean kept in his boot felt like it was pressed too tight against his ankle, like a promise. His dad had given him the knife, and though Dean had left, that part of him hadn’t. His dad had made him carry that knife with him since he was seven.

 

Dean, carefully, like he was approaching a skittish creature, something precious and to be kept safe, stepped forward and pulled Castiel’s shirt back down so it hid the constellation of violence against this intriguing boy. “I’ll be your friend, Cas,” Dean said, just to test the word on his tongue.

 

Castiel looked up at Dean, eyes wide and crystal blue. “Okay.”

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2uqghw3)  


 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t like you,” the red-headed girl said. She looked Dean up and down once more with a frown. “I don’t like you one bit.”

 

Dean frowned, glancing at Castiel with worry in his eyes. This was Castiel’s only other friend outside his family, and she had already decided that she didn’t like Dean.

 

The girl narrowed her eyes and folded her arms so they partially obscured her Back to the Future shirt. Her bangs were cut short and her hair was so red that it almost looked like she was bleeding.

 

“Um… Why?” Dean asked.

 

The girl frowned. “You’re too pretty. It’s weird.”

 

Dean laughed, and it was a round, good-natured thing. He stuck out his hand, and the girl shook it. “I’m Dean.”

 

“Charlie,” the girl said. “Can you braid hair? Because I tried to teach Cas but he didn’t take to it.”

 

Dean looked at Castiel helplessly, and Castiel shrugged. “I don’t think I can braid…”

 

“Were you ever a boy scout?” Charlie asked. “Like, knots and stuff?”

 

“I was never a boy scout. But I can do some knots,” Dean said. He wasn’t lying, his dad had taught him knots once, when he needed Dean to make a net. Dean didn’t ask for what.

 

Charlie grinned. “Okay. C’mere.” Dean walked closer to the girl and she turned away, so her back was facing him. “Separate my hair into three chunks, and then kinda… weave ‘em together.”

 

Dean shrugged and did just that.

 

The three of them were in Castiel’s room, the weekend before Dean would be joining Charlie and Castiel’s class (late — he was going to be the late newcomer. Whatever, Dean could work with that. Mystery was his protection. That and the knife in his boot.). Castiel had insisted Dean meet Charlie before school started, just so he could have another ally in the new environment (Dean knew he didn’t really need it; he was a tough boy). Dean just welcomed the chance to see what Castiel’s home was like. Dean liked Castiel’s family well enough. Gabriel was like a god to Sam, so Dean liked him. Anna was standoffish and fiery, so Dean didn’t really talk to her much. She was older and believed herself to be above Dean and Castiel. Castiel’s mostly absent father, Chuck, was an author and a bit of an alcoholic, but he was never a violent or angry drunk. He just got vaguely maudlin and reminisced about the Novaks’ mother. Dean could relate to their family structure, even though it was much more stable than his own.

 

“Don’t pull my hair!” Charlie said.

 

“Sorry! Sorry,” Dean said, untangling his fingers from a segment of ruby-red hair.

 

Castiel’s room was organized chaos. Castiel flitted through it like he had wings, and it was obvious that he knew every secret hidden in every nook and cranny in the room. The bookshelf was chock-full of books, but they were well kept, as if Castiel knew that they needed room to breathe. He had plastered posters of dinosaurs and strange hieroglyphs on the walls. His room was nerdy and whimsical and Dean felt like he could be whole in there, like he could be young and dumb and that would be _okay_ , like he didn’t have to be the responsible parent he and Sammy didn’t have.

 

“What’s it like here? To live here?” Dean mused, quickly flipping Charlie’s locks between his fingers.

 

“I mean, you’ll find out soon enough,” Charlie said, her lithe fingers tapping on the seat of Castiel’s desk chair. “I don’t know. I mean, you have your typical social hierarchy. Sports is big here, football especially. There’s mean people.” Dean’s eyes immediately flick to Castiel’s stomach. He had made Castiel swear to point out who did that to him as soon as he saw them at school. Castiel tried to make Dean promise not to do anything to them, but Dean didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “Like Zachariah and Raphael. They’re older, in sixth grade, but they think it’s fun to beat on the younger kids. Assholes, the lot of them.”

 

Castiel turned red and frowned. “Don’t cuss,” he said, simply.

 

“Sorry,” Charlie said, as if she knew it was better than to argue. “Are you done, Dean?”

 

“Um… do you have a thing to end it?” Dean muttered, holding the ends of his masterpiece together.

 

“A hair tie?” Charlie looked down at her wrists uncertainly. “Oh. No, sorry.”

 

Dean shrugged. “It’s okay.” He let go, watching as his work unraveled, a little sadly.

 

“We’re all friends, right?” Castiel asked carefully. Dean realized that was the first time Castiel had spoken in a long time.

 

“Yeah,” Charlie said.

 

Dean nodded.

 

And when Castiel smiled, Dean felt like he was falling into his ocean eyes.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2qcnmv4)  


It was the first day of school. Dean had an old backpack full of new paper hanging off of one shoulder.

 

He followed Castiel around as he explained the layout of the school, where the lockers and classrooms where, whom to avoid.

 

A group of boys, all older than both of them, surrounded them by Dean’s locker, silent and smirking. Castiel pressed himself against Dean’s side, shaking, his eyes cast downwards. Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand for a brief second, squeezing it firmly, and Castiel shot him a frantic look.

 

“These them?” Dean whispered, voice low. One of the boys cracked his knuckles menacingly.

 

Castiel nodded solemnly.

 

It took Dean two minutes and twenty-three seconds to beat up all six of them. Turns out his training with his father paid off.

 

Dean got suspended on his first day, and a pair of bloodied knuckles. The other boys got matching black eyes and the knowledge that one does not mess with a Winchester.

 

And Dean was happy.


	2. Eleven

11

“Do I get paid to watch these mutton-heads?” Gabriel said fondly, ruffling a pouting Sam’s hair.

 

“You ain’t babysittin’, Gabe, just… supervisin’,” groused Bobby. He was securing his trusty cap upon his head, set to drive to the Roadhouse.

 

“Eager to see Ellen, are we?” Dean smirked. Castiel snickered.

 

“Shut it, ya idjits.” Bobby frowned and shifted nervously for a moment. “Ya know, maybe I should stay-”

 

He was cut off by Sam pushing him toward the door. “Go, Bobby! Have fun!”

 

Bobby grinned fondly at them in farewell and then left, locking the door behind him

.

“Wanna play a game, Sammy?” Gabriel asked, leaning down so he was at eye level with Sam. He didn’t have to lean down nearly as far as he used too, though; Sam was growing like a weed.

 

Sam pointed an accusatory finger at Gabriel, demonstrating his new-found seven-year-old spunk. “You aren’t babysitting me, Gabe. You’re supervising. So, we can play a game _as equals_ or I’m gonna get some Cheerios and go to my room.”

 

Gabriel laughed. “Well, that sounds boring. Let’s play a game, Sammy. _As equals._ ”

 

Sam smiled. “Okay, good.” He held out his hand for Gabriel to hold, which he did, and led him toward the living room, blushing hard.

 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Dean began to laugh, trying to stifle it with the palm of his hand. He rocked back and forth on the stool he was sitting on, Castiel beside him

.

“Dean,” Castiel said, amusement evident on his tone. “I think that your brother likes my brother.”

 

Dean snorted and stood up from stool. “What makes you think that?”

 

Castiel grinned and stood too, then walked into the kitchen without a glance over his shoulder, because he knew Dean would follow. He wasn’t wrong.

 

“Why are we going to the kitchen?” Dean asked.

 

“I’m making you pie,” Castiel stated. “Celebration pie, like I promised. You pass science, I make pie.”

 

“Apple pie,” Dean clarified. He pulled up a chair and sat backwards, straddling the seat with his arms folded over the back.

 

“Apple pie,” Castiel confirmed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He flattened it on the counter top, running his finger down the list of ingredients carefully. “You do have apples, right?”

 

“Yeah, in the fridge,” Dean said. “But don’t use too many, okay? Need to keep some for Sammy’s lunch.”

 

“Little pie, then,” Castiel said, smiling. He held up his pointer finger and thumb, keeping an inch of space between them, like he was pinching something. “Itty-bitty pie,” he said, in a voice far too serious for the words he spoke.

 

Dean snorted. “How many apples are there?”

 

Castiel opened the fridge. “Seven.”

 

“How many apples do you need?”

 

“Three.”

 

“Make me a pie then, Cas,” Dean said. “Big pie.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever, Dean.” He grabbed the apples from the fridge and placed them on the counter, then circled the kitchen collecting the other ingredients.

 

Dean watched him carefully. His best friend was growing up, and Dean didn’t know how to feel. Obviously, Dean was growing up as well, at eleven he was one of the tallest in their class, but Castiel was growing up differently. When they were younger, Castiel always felt so much _smaller_ than Dean, fragile in a way he wasn’t anymore. Castiel no longer needed Dean to protect him. After that first day of school, when Dean had beaten them up, the older boys knew to keep from physically picking on Castiel. But, that didn’t deter them from making fun of him.

 

He was odd, and that made him a target. Frequently, Dean, Castiel, and Charlie would get a visit from Zachariah and his goons at their lunch table. They were too scared of Dean to taunt him, and Charlie fought back with a fiery tongue, but Castiel never did anything. No matter what they said, what creative new expletive they hurled his way, he never said anything. Every time Dean would stand to fight, every time he opened his mouth to give them a piece of his mind, Castiel would hook his ankle around Dean’s and shake his head.

 

“They aren’t worth it,” is what Cas always said. “And if you get in any more fights on campus, you’ll be expelled.”

 

Dean didn’t care. He didn’t care and he would fight anyone who dared try to hurt Castiel, and his warm smile and blue eyes. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he would fight— but he never needed too. Because Castiel _didn’t care_. He didn’t give a wet rat’s ass about whether or not people liked him. The only person he cared about liking him was Dean, which wasn’t a problem because Dean couldn’t seem to stop liking him.

 

“Dean!” Castiel said, snapping Dean out of his stupor. He was pointing at the sink, which was full of dirty dishes. “This. This is disgusting. Fix it.”

 

“What?” Dean asked.

 

“I need the pan that is under this disaster. So, if you want pie, you will wash this,” Castiel said firmly, frowning.

 

Dean sighed and stood, letting the chair drag noisily to convey his discontent at having to move. He stuck his tongue out at Castiel, who reciprocated accordingly. He rolled the sleeves up on his dark gray Henley and turned on the tap, squirting some dish soap on a sponge.

 

“I hate you,” Dean said, rubbing the sponge across a plate that was crusted in some sort of red sauce.

 

“No, you don’t,” Castiel replied, not even looking up from his progress. He scrapped the back of a butter knife across the measuring cup in his hand, leveling out the flour. He carefully dropped the flour into the plastic mixing bowl with a powdery poof.

 

“No, I don’t,” Dean said. He frowned and scrubbed the plate with vigor.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2h2qvq8)  
  
  
  
  
  


“And Dean, you can be the princess!”

 

Dean stilled, cheeks flaring. “Excuse me?”

 

He sat in a circle with Gabriel, Castiel, Anna, and Sam. Anna was disinterestedly chewing a wad of pink gum to Dean’s left, and Castiel was frowning in concentration at their assignments, distributed by Sam, who sat directly across from Dean.

 

“You’re the princess!” Sam grinned.

 

“Why can’t Anna be the princess?” Dean asked desperately.

 

Anna blew a pink bubble, raised an eyebrow, and then popped it noisily. “Because I don’t feel like conforming to gender stereotypes today.”

 

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. He knew that playing pretend with his brother and the Novaks would likely end in disaster. He just didn’t think that wearing a tiara was going to be a part of it. “Fine. Fine! Whatever. Give me the crown,” Dean said, holding out his hand.

 

Gabriel dropped a plastic, purple-rhinestone encrusted tiara into Dean’s hand.

 

He set it on his head, feeling ridiculous. “Whose tiara even is this?” He muttered.

 

“It’s mine,” said Gabriel, crossing his arms. “Do you have a problem with that, Dean?”

 

Dean’s eyes widened. “No! Jesus. I don’t care, I was just wondering…”

 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow defiantly. “I’ll have you know, I look fabulous in it.”

 

“Okay, Gabe,” Dean drawled. “Alright, Sammy. Who’s everyone else?”

 

“Anna’s the witch, and Gabe and I are dragons,” Sam said, bouncing excitedly. “And, and, and Cas’s the prince.”

 

Dean’s eyes shot wide, and beside him Castiel started choking on something.

 

“ _What?_ ” they said in unison.

 

Anna rolled her eyes at their antics. “You two are so damn _dramatic_. It’s not like you’re getting married.”

 

Dean glanced at Castiel quickly, swallowing hard. Castiel looked back, and while his gaze was shocked, he only shrugged.       

 

“C’mon guys, for Sam?” Gabriel asked innocently. Beside him, Sam pouted with his chocolate puppy dog eyes. _Damn those two, always scheming._

 

“Whatever,” Dean conceded. “But I’m going to be mad about this.”

 

“Nice to know you think that low of me, princess,” Castiel smirked.

 

Dean flushed. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

 

Castiel laughed. “So, how is this going to work, Sam?”

 

Sam clapped in excitement. “Okay, the princess goes in the tower over there,” Sam said, pointing to the peak of the pillow fort that he and Gabriel had carefully constructed. Dean trundled reluctantly to the stack of pillow, perching on the topmost one.

 

“This is an awful idea,” Dean muttered, adjusting his crown on his head, one hand gripping tightly to the pillow below him. The stack of pillows had absolutely no structural integrity, and Dean was afraid he was going to topple over at any minute. “Your princess says that she hates this and hates you all, you peasants!” Dean proclaimed.

 

Dean watched as a fond smile crept over Castiel’s features. “I’ll save you princess!” he shouted.

 

And then he ran in the opposite direction.

 

“Hey, prince? Wrong way!” Dean yelled.

 

“Give me a second!” Castiel shouted back. Dean heard the frantic banging of drawers before Castiel skidded out of the kitchen in his socks, wielding a roll of tinfoil like a sword. “I’ll save you!”

 

“Dragons!” Anna said with a flourish. “Attack him!” Then she went back to chewing on her gum, observing the proceeding with a practiced disinterest from her seat at the bottom of Dean’s tower.

 

Gabriel and Sam rushed at Castiel, arms spread like wings. Sam was roaring at Castiel, and Gabriel was watching his antics with an amused expression. Swiftly, almost elegantly, Castiel danced around them, quickly poking them with the roll of tinfoil. As soon as they were hit, they dropped the ground dramatically, Sam with a gurgling screech.

 

Castiel turned to Anna, a triumphant grin on his face. “You’ll never win, witch! I will save my love, the princess!”

 

Dean’s eyebrows jolted upwards. _It’s just a game_ , Dean had to remind himself. Oh well, he could be dramatic too. “Oh, my prince, my love! Save me, please!” he crowed, adapting a high-pitched voice.

 

Anna sighed and stood as if every step was painstaking. “You aren’t getting the princess. She’s mine. And since my dragons have proven to be completely _useless_...” Anna threw a pointed glare at Sam and Gabriel, who were lying on the floor, tongues lolling out in a ridiculous semblance of death. Gabriel sent her a cheeky wink back. “I guess I’ll have to defeat you myself.”

 

She looked around unhurriedly for a moment, like Castiel wasn’t even a threat, and then drew out an orange bolster pillow, wielding it with a malicious grin. “ _En garde_ , dear prince.”

 

Castiel chuckled, a little nervously. “See, but this is unfair! You take fencing lessons!”

 

“Don’t be a pouty prince,” said Anna, flipping her red hair over her shoulder with a flourish. Dean’s eyes followed the river of red. _How the hell did she manage to get it that color? It couldn’t possibly be natural…_

 

Dean looked up from Anna’s hair to see Castiel eyeing him with an odd expression. Castiel clenched his jaw and lifted his roll of tinfoil. “C’mon witch, let’s fight. I was promised the princess, and I will be getting her,” he said, voice determined.

 

Dean snorted. “What a romantic.”

 

Castiel winked at him and Dean nearly fell off his tower, cheeks red and hot. “You know it, babe.”

 

Dean’s eyes blew wide in shock. He pointed at Castiel. “Nope, nope. The princess does not condone being called ‘babe’.”

 

“Shut up, babe,” Anna said, a crooked grin plastered over her features.

 

Dean shook his head vigorously. “No. No. This is not becoming a thing. No.”

 

Castiel laughed and then, without warning swung his tinfoil sword at Anna. Luckily, she caught it in time on the tip of her bolster.

 

“You aren’t getting me that easy, Cassie,” Anna smirked. She pulled back and swung at Castiel. Anna’s movements were much smoother and more practiced than Castiel’s, but Castiel seemed to be holding his own. They fought for a couple of minutes, everyone else watching with fascination, until Castiel stepped a little closer to Anna, surprising her enough to make her stumble back into the tower of pillows.

 

“CAS!” was all Dean could scream as the tower teetered and then toppled, pitching Dean forward.

 

The pillows fell with a soft _fwump_ noise, mostly on top of Anna. Dean, however, had been catapulted forward on to a person rather than a pillow. As he tried to sit up, Dean realized that he had landed squarely on top of Castiel, his arms braced on either side of his hips and his right cheek pressed firmly on Castiel’s warm chest.

 

“Oh- jesus! Sorry, Cas!” Dean muttered, pressing himself up until he was hovering above Castiel. He felt his cheeks flush and he muttered another apology, cheeks heating. He pushed himself into a seated position next to Castiel, and Castiel sat up beside him.

 

Dean heard a distinct snorting noise and looked over to see a flash of red and dark eyes peering from underneath a pile of pillows. “That was quite a creative way to defeat the witch, boys.” She considered for a moment. “I guess it worked though.”

 

“Yay!” Sam clapped. “You win!”

 

Dean grinned crookedly and stuck his hand out for Castiel to shake. “Alright. Thanks for saving me, Cas.”

 

“Anytime,” Castiel replied, and they shook hands.

 

“What?” Sam said, clearly disconcerted and minorly outraged by something. “No. No, no, no. That’s not how it goes!”

 

Dean looked at his brother. “What do you mean?”

 

“The prince saves the princess and then they…” Sam said, obviously trying to prompt them to fill in the blank.

 

Dean exchanged a glance with Castiel and shrugged.

 

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “They kiss! You’re supposed to kiss! That’s what happens in the fairy tales!”

 

Dean turned white.

 

“Wh-what?” Castiel stuttered.

 

Dean looked at Castiel and his blue, blue eyes and then tore his gaze away, back to Sam and Gabriel, who was grinning conspiratorially behind Sam. “K-kiss Cas?”

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Gabriel said with a carefully curated nonchalant shrug.

 

“Not a… no!” Dean said vehemently. “Nope, not kissing him. He’s my best friend!”

 

“Exactly. That’s why it shouldn’t be a big deal.” Gabriel pushed.

 

“Wh-what? No, that’s exactly why it’s-” Dean started, but was cut off by Castiel.

 

“I mean, I’ll do it,” Castiel offered, voice casual but eyes wide as saucers. “For the benefit of Sam and his game, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” Gabriel confirmed.

 

Dean looked back and forth frantically for a second before they landed on Castiel’s. “You’re okay with this?”

 

Castiel shrugged. “What does it matter? It’s just a kiss.”

 

“Just a kiss.” Dean repeated, softly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, whatever Sammy. Fine.”

 

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up, as if he hadn’t expected Dean to agree. “Okay.”

 

Dean forced himself to look at Castiel, his head balled at his sides. He leaned in, drinking in Castiel’s sparkling eyes before screwing his own eyes shut. Dean felt the barest brush of lips against his, soft and buzzing with energy, more of a whisper of a kiss than anything else, before Castiel pulled back.

 

Dean felt like every inch of his skin was alive and _on fire_ , and he couldn’t understand why this felt so groundbreaking, so truly _right_. They had just kissed. It was just a kiss.

But then Dean felt Castiel’s gaze heavy on him, his face still just inches away, and it felt like something _more_.

 

Dean tried to tamp down the rush of raw feeling, repeating to himself, _just a kiss, just a kiss, just a kiss_ , but he felt it start to boil over.

 

And then, then, then, _Dean_.

 

All he could hear was his father…

 

_Dean._

 

_Take care of Sammy._

 

_It’s your fault, your fault, your fault that she’s dead, that Mary’s dead, that your mother is dead, that my wife is dead…_

 

And any time Dean dared to say, no, no it wasn’t my fault, the swift crack of a palm against his cheek and the resounding scream of his father that always followed.

 

_IT IS YOUR FAULT, YOU FILTHY WASTE OF SPACE_.

 

Dean wouldn’t cry, he couldn’t cry anymore.

 

And his father loved baby Sammy, little and chubby with fat fists and silky brown hair. But he didn’t love Dean, how could he? He looked exactly like Mary, a reflection of everything John had lost. No, John couldn’t love Dean.

 

Dean tried to resent Sammy for the love he received that Dean never did, but he couldn’t. He was just a baby, so instead of resenting him, Dean grew fiercely protective of his little brother.

 

_Take care of Sammy._

 

I know, I know, sir. I will.

 

_Take care of him._

 

His father taught him how to take care of Sammy, how to fight.

 

_Keep your thumb outside of your fist or you’ll break it. Aim for the eyes, throat, temple. Kidney and solar plexus. Knees, groin. Protect yourself, protect your brother._

 

Yes, sir.

 

He also taught Dean how to steal and how to flirt, flirt with death, with fighting, with girls.

 

But not boys, never boys.

 

_You aren’t a faggot. Don’t act like one._ His father had said after Dean had batted his eyelashes at the man behind the counter and gotten their dinner for free. _Boys like girls, men like women. You aren’t a filthy faggot, Dean. Don’t fucking act like one!_

 

His father hit him that night, in the parking lot, Sam crying in the car, and the man behind the counter didn’t stop him.

 

_Dean, you are not gay. You are not a faggot. You do not like boys._

 

Dean didn’t like boys, he didn’t like Cas, not like that. Castiel was his friend and nothing more.

 

Dean didn’t kiss boys, and he certainly didn’t like it.

 

One more deep breath, and any fizzy, ecstatic feeling left over from Castiel’s lips on his own was gone.

 

“You two actually kissed!” Sam squealed, clapping.

 

“You _told_ us to,” Dean pointed out. His body language turned defensive, curling his knees to his chest protectively.

 

“Well, you didn’t have to!” Sam grinned, obviously delighted for his brother.

 

Gabriel seemed to notice Dean’s, frankly obvious, discomfort. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he amended. “Kissing. It’s not, see?”

 

Gabriel leaned in and pecked Sam on the lips quickly and chastely, trying to show how little it mattered. But it did matter. Maybe not to Gabriel, though he was shivering a bit for some reason, but it did to Sam, who was staring at Gabriel. He looked positively enamored and absolutely flabbergasted at what had just occurred.

 

“Um…” Gabriel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

 

“O-okay. I’m going to go… upstairs. I’m going to go upstairs now,” Dean muttered, cheeks burning and mouth turning down into a frown. He stood and brushed himself off, then started walking to his room, trying to ignore the persistent padding of feet behind him that he knew must be Castiel.

 

“Dean?” Castiel asked hesitantly, just as Dean’s hand touched his door handle.

 

“Yeah?” he replied.

 

“Are you… okay?”

 

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not a big deal, right? It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Yeah. It doesn’t matter,” Castiel confirmed. Any hint of wistfulness in his tone Dean chalked up to his own— completely unwarranted and not allowed— wishful thinking.

 

They went into Dean’s room, Castiel immediately started to babble to Dean about the importance of bees, clearly uncomfortable with the tension in the air.

 

Dean just sat on the edge of his bed, watching Castiel gesticulate widely, his dark hair flouncing about, and rubbed his lips without realizing it.

 

His first kiss had been with a _boy_. _This_ boy, his best friend, Cas.

  
_His first kiss._


	3. Thirteen

13

“Dean! Hey, Dean!”

 

Dean turned and saw Cassie Robinson approaching him from across the baseball field. Her heels caused her to wobble a bit on the patchy grass, but her red-painted smile and chocolate curls stayed immaculate as she drew closer.

 

Dean wiped the back of his hand against his forehead and adjusted his grip on the ball in his hand. “Hey, Cassie. What’s up?”

 

“Not much,” Cassie replied. She stopped in front of him, just barely intruding on his personal space. “Are you practicing to try out for the baseball team?”

 

Dean looked down at the ball in his hand and laughed. “Oh, no. I don’t do team sports. I just needed to blow off some steam.” He tossed the ball between his hands, casually showing  off. “Plus, I’m not good enough for the team anyway.” That was a lie, and they both knew it. Ever since Dean had stepped into the middle school this year, fresh out of a growth spurt and new-found interest in weightlifting, the coaches of all the major sports teams at their school had been on their knees trying to get him to join.

 

But Dean wasn’t interested. Or, more accurately, Castiel wasn’t interested and they both were afraid that if Dean joined a team, they’d grow apart. They had become so co-dependent that they couldn’t properly function without each other. They came as a matching set, _Dean and Cas_ , _Cas and Dean_. Completely different yet perfect together, the best of friends.

 

“Oh, I think you’d do great on the team,” Cassie said, batting her eyelashes. Dean was aware she was flirting; he’d known she liked him for a while. They were lab partners in Science, and she took every chance she could to touch him, compliment him, hint at him in any way she could. While Dean was flattered, she was one of the most popular girls in his class and she found him desirable — _not that it was uncommon to like Dean, he was an attractive enigma, and that was gold to most girls_ — he just didn’t really feel much when she was with him. Like he was numb, sort of, or just ambivalent to her advances. It just wasn’t right somehow.

 

He chuckled. “Thanks, but I have better things to do then play on a team,” Dean said

.

“Like what?” she asked, intrigued. She flipped a few locks of shiny hair over her shoulder and leaned in a little more. Dean felt his skin crawl as her breath ghosted over his face. She smelled like cupcake batter, sickeningly sweet. Dean didn’t really like the smell of cupcakes. He liked the smell of pie, though. Castiel’s apple pie.

 

Dean kicked himself a bit, realizing he was leaving Cassie hanging. He trained his expression into his best flirtatious smirk. “Like talk to you, of course.”

 

Cassie’s resounding laugh rang tinkling and sincere, which made Dean dislike it more. She really did think Dean was as interested in her as she was in him.

 

Cassie pulled a small slip of paper out of the pocket of her miniskirt — _how the hell did that scrap of fabric have room for a pocket?_ — and handed it to Dean. “You talk good, Winchester. Give me a call sometime.”

 

Dean took the paper and pocketed it reluctantly. “Sure thing, sunshine.”

 

Cassie left in puff of lilac, first blowing a kiss over her shoulder at Dean. Dean tried to ignore how his stomach was turning unpleasantly, but it got so bad that he laid down, in the middle of the baseball field, the little crops of daisies tickling the back of his neck and knees. He spread like a starfish, watching the cornflower blue sky and the clouds that painted it in streaks.

 

Castiel’s eyes were sometimes that shade of blue, when he was sad. Soft and sorrowful and grayer than they usually were.

 

When Dean left the field, he almost threw away Cassie’s phone number, but he decided not to at the last second.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2s1m7gz)  


  
  
  
  
  


“You look nice today, Charlie,” Castiel said with a smile.

 

Dean’s gut twisted a little at the compliment, but he didn’t understand why.

 

“Oh, I know,” Charlie laughed, flouncing her ruby-red hair. “I brushed my hair. Does wonders, doesn’t it?”

 

Castiel chuckled in amusement, and Dean laughed along, hoping he didn’t sound as suspicious as he thought he did.

 

The three of them sat in a booth at the Roadhouse, a diner near their school. Charlie sat in the seat across from Dean and Castiel, flicking through a menu with interest. Dean peeked over at Castiel. His friend was looking better by the day. He had started to fill out and get taller, though he was still a little shorter than Dean. If he was a little more social, Dean knew that girls would be flocking to him. Castiel was charming enough, and fucking smart; he could probably have any girl he wanted, if he wanted. But he didn’t seem to, and it made Dean curious.

 

Castiel noticed Dean’s staring and smiled softly at him, holding out his menu for them to share. Dean turned red in embarrassment at getting caught and busied himself in searching the menu. It wasn’t uncommon for them to share, but Dean had his own menu today. It felt oddly intimate, looking at the photos of milkshakes and burgers together, each holding one side of the menu between them.

 

“I’m going to get a chocolate milkshake,” Charlie proclaimed, snapping her menu closed.

 

“What about you, Dean?” Castiel asked, looking deeply into Dean’s eyes.

 

“Uh…” Dean felt his cheeks color again. “A Coke?”

 

Castiel nodded. “I think I’ll get a Coke too.” He looked down at the menu and reached over, flipping the page. His thumb grazed Dean’s and he felt himself fizz at the touch. “Hmmm…” Castiel considered, eyebrows drawing together. “And a slice of apple pie.”

 

Dean looked across the room at the counter, where the apple pie sat, glowing in its display case. “Oh shit, I’m getting pie too.”

 

“It looks good, doesn’t it?” Castiel said with a grin.

 

Dean drank in Castiel’s delighted expression, studying his friend. “It does look good.”

 

Charlie snorted. “Dean, you aren’t looking at the pie.”

 

Dean snapped out of his stupor. “Of course I am, Charlie,” he shot back with a glare.

 

Charlie opened her mouth to speak, but Dean swiftly kicked her in the shin under the table. Charlie eyed Dean desperately across the table, and Dean avoided her gaze.

 

“Hi, y’all. What’ll it be today?” came a voice. Dean looked up to see a gorgeous blonde with long, curly locks grinning down at them.

 

Dean adopted a flirtatious smile. “Hey Jo, what’cha doing working?”

 

Jo Harvelle went to their school, and despite being stunning and a grade ahead of them, she had always been kind to Dean and his friends, most likely because she was friends with Castiel’s sister. “My mom needed an extra worker today, so I’m on the job,” she answered. “So, what do you want?”

 

“Me and Cas’ll have Cokes and pie, and Charlie wants a chocolate shake,” Dean said smoothly.

 

For some reason, Jo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh! Okay.” She offered an encouraging smile. “That’s great, congrats!”

 

She then collected the menus and skittered away.

 

“Congrats?” Dean asked, confused. “What is she talking about?”

 

“No idea,” said Castiel.

 

Charlie shrugged. “Oh, Dean! Cassie asked me to ask you when you were going to call her.”

 

“Ugh…” Dean groaned. “I don’t know. Tomorrow?”

 

“Really?” Charlie asked.

 

“Uh… probably not.” Dean groaned again and lolled his head in annoyance. “She’s just… god! She’s annoying. And all she wants me to do is compliment her. We can’t have a real conversation, because all she wants to talk about is herself.”

 

“I thought your date went well?” Castiel asked carefully, as if dancing around the subject.

 

“I guess. We kissed. But there was no substance. She’s just a…”

 

“A vapid air-headed bitch?” Castiel offered innocently.

 

Dean snorted. “Jesus, Cas. Tell us what you really think about her.”

 

Castiel sighed and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache coming on. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”

 

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m not saying I don’t agree, but why do you think that?”

 

Castiel bit his lip uncomfortably. “Yesterday. She cornered me, tried to get me to tell her about you.”

 

“She did that to me too,” Charlie said.

 

“Well, when I wouldn’t tell her anything, she accused me of being in love with you,” Castiel said.

 

Dean swallowed. “Why?”

 

“I don’t know! It’s completely ridiculous anyway, I didn’t tell her about you because the point of going out with someone  _ is _ to get to know them, not to harass their best friends into telling you all their secrets.” Castiel blew out a breath. “Anyway, after she accused me of being in love with you, I told her you were too good for her.” Castiel winced and glanced at Dean apologetically. “Sorry. That probably solidified her belief that I’m in love with you. She probably told people, you know her. Sorry.”

 

“Why are you apologizing to me? It’s fine, Cas. But don’t you care about everyone thinking you’re gay?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel shrugged. “Dean, I could care less. Everyone thinks I’m gay anyway, this doesn’t change much.”

 

“But shouldn’t you care if it’s a lie?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel cleared his throat uncomfortably. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Charlie cut him off.

 

“Well, I  _ am _ gay,” she proclaimed.

 

“Yes.” Castiel nodded.

 

“Okay.” Dean shrugged and shifted.

 

Charlie made a face. “Huh,” Charlie said. “I thought my coming out would be more dramatic.”

 

“I knew,” Castiel said.

 

“I guessed,” Dean said.

 

“I kind of wanted it to be more dramatic,” Charlie muttered. Dean laughed good-naturedly.

 

“Fine,” Castiel said. He pointed toward the door. “Out.”

 

“What? Why?” Charlie balked.

 

“We’re disowning you before you infect us with your homosexuality,” he said. He managed to keep a straight face for about four seconds before they all collapsed into giggles.

 

“I have drinks!” a cheery voice proclaimed. Dean looked up to see Jo, carrying a platter. “Dean and Castiel, Cokes. Charlie, chocolate shake.” Jo set the glasses down in front of them. Dean immediately took a sip, thirsty from all the talking. “And… pie for the lovebirds!” Jo said, setting down a slice of pie between Castiel and Dean. Charlie took one look and her cackling resumed.

 

Dean eyes went wide in shock. “Wait,  _ what _ ?” He burbled around his Coke, making it pour out of his mouth and drip down his chin on to his shirt. “ _ Shit! _ ” He swallowed and started to frantically dab at the stain.

 

“ _ Lovebirds _ ?” Castiel said in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Jo, I think there’s been some kind of mistake. Dean and I, we aren’t  _ dating _ ,” he said, tripping over his words. “We just both ordered pie.”

 

Jo’s cheeks colored in embarrassment. “Oh! Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry! It’s just- the way Dean said it, it sounded like you too were going to be sharing, and I heard Cassie talking about you two, and I guess I just assumed… oh, I am so sorry!”

 

“I’m- I am not gay. I am  _ achingly _ heterosexual,” Dean clarified, “and so is Cas.”

 

Dean pretended he hadn’t noticed Castiel look away as he said his last comment.

 

“I’m so, so, so sorry,” Jo said. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry for assuming… god, I feel like an asshole. I know it won’t make up for anything, but how about I get you that second slice of pie, on the house? I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind…”

 

Dean shook his head. “It’s fine, Jo. Cas and I don’t mind sharing, right Cas?”

 

“Right,” Castiel confirmed.

 

“Okay,” Jo said, offering them a timid smile. “Again, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Jo,” Castiel said. “Could he get a glass of water, though? He needs to get that stain out.” He gestured to the Coke soaking into Dean’s shirt.

 

“Of course,” Jo said, smiling again in apology. “I’ll go get that.”

 

As soon as she left, Dean let his head drop to the table. “Why does everyone think we’re gay?” he whined.

 

Castiel winced. “Sorry, Dean.” Castiel hooked his ankle around Dean’s, offering comfort. He knew Dean felt uncomfortable with “chick flick moments,” so all their physical affection was shown through ankle holding. As odd as it sounded, they had grown accustomed to holding ankles all the time; during class, at home, anywhere.

 

Dean smiled at Castiel softly.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=11lkd2d)  


 

“Where could anyone possibly get the idea that you two are dating?” Charlie teased, sipping her milkshake. “Oh, wait. You’ve been inseparable since you were nine. Dean never follows through with the girls he hits on. Cas never hits on girls, and you always hold hands under the table. How could anyone possibly think you’re dating?”

 

Dean frowned deeply. “We don’t hold hands.”

 

“Silly me. You play footsie,” Charlie clarified.

 

Castiel drew up into himself. “Charlie…” he warned.

 

“Fine. Fine! Too far. Sorry.” She slurped at her milkshake. “But if you two ever did date- and I said  _ if _ , not  _ when _ , so don’t get your panties in a twist- you’d tell me, right?”

 

“ _ If _ .  _ If  _ we ever date, which we  _ won’t _ , I’d tell you, Charlie,” Dean muttered. He took a long sip of Coke, cheeks burning.

 

“I’d tell you too,” Castiel said. He stirred his drink with his straw thoughtfully.

 

“But that’s not going to happen, because we’re straight,” Dean insisted.

 

Castiel sipped his drink, but he didn’t say anything.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_“Dad! Dad!” Dean grinned and caught up with his father who was comparing prices on jerky in the aisle of the convenience store. “The man behind the counter said he’d pay me fifty bucks if I help him in the bathroom!”_

 

_John Winchester’s eyes darkened. “No.”_

 

_“But don’t we need the money?”_

 

_John inspected six-year old Dean with thinly veiled contempt. “No, Dean. We’re fine.” He tossed Dean a bag of jerky and a few ones. “Go pay for that.”_

 

_“Okay, sir.” Dean swallowed and nodded. He had been so excited to tell his dad that he had found a way to get them some money, but John wasn’t nearly as excited as Dean had expected him to be, and Dean felt crushed. He walked to the counter, jerky in hand. He placed the bag on the counter and smiled at the man behind the counter. “This, please.”_

 

_The man, middle aged and greasy, leered at Dean. “You gonna help me in the bathroom, pretty?”_

 

_Dean shook his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”_

 

_The man tutted. “Shame. The things I’d do to those pretty lips…”_

 

_Dean shifted, a little uncomfortably, not really understanding what the man meant. “How much for the jerky?” he asked, trying to change the subject._

 

_“Six bucks, green eyes.” The man considered. “Free for a kiss.”_

 

_Dean tensed. He counted the bills in his hand. His father had only given him four. “It said four bucks over there, mister.”_

 

_“Prices change, pretty,” the man smirked. “In fact, everythin’ in the store is six bucks now.”_

 

_Dean frowned, glancing between the man and the money in his hand._

 

_“Guess you’ll be taking the second option, lovely?” said the man._

 

_ “Okay,” he said. His voice was small, but he felt smaller. The man leaned over the counter, towering over Dean, and Dean had to stand on his tippy-toes to reach the man’s lips. The man’s lips pressed forcefully on Dean’s, and Dean felt a ripple of disgust run through him. _

__

_“HEY! GET AWAY FROM MY SON!” someone roared. Dean pulled away to see his father barreling towards them. As soon as he reached them, he pushed Dean back from the counter and socked the man behind the counter in the eye. His father hit the man in the stomach and screamed at Dean. “WAIT BY THE CAR, DEAN.”_

 

_“Bye-ya, green eyes,” the man sing-songed as John continued to hit him. “Thanks for the kiss!”_

 

_Dean felt tears pricking in his eyes as he fled the store. He ran to the Impala, throwing himself into the front seat. His babbling baby brother watched as Dean sobbed, but the only thing going through Dean’s head was “I forgot the jerky.”_

 

_He hadn’t stopped crying when John exited the store, knuckles split and bruising, the bag of jerky fisted in his hand, along with a cup of applesauce and a plastic spoon._

 

_He threw the food at Dean’s lap and slammed the door. He inhaled, clearly enraged, and punched the steering wheel once, letting out a loud honk._

 

_“Dean,” John said, turning to face his son. “Never. Never ever do that again.”_

 

_Dean looked pointedly at his lap. “I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t have enough to pay for the jerky, and he said it would be free if I kissed him.”_

 

_John inhaled once more, and Dean stiffened, knowing what would come next. A swift crack and then Dean felt the sting of his father’s palm against his cheek._

 

_“How many more times, Dean?” his father shouted. “How many more times do I have to tell you? Boys like-”_

 

_ “Girls,” Dean finished. _

 

_ “And you do not associate with those fucking filthy-” _

 

_ “Faggots,” Dean muttered. “I know, sir. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”   _

__

_ “Sure, it won’t,” his father scoffed. He started the car, and they peeled out of the parking lot. “Now, feed your brother, Dean.” _

 

_ Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into the backseat, his back hitting the roof uncomfortably as they sped past the speed limit. _

 

_ Dean buckled up next to his younger brother. He opened the cup of applesauce and started to feed it to Sam, as carefully and quietly as he could. _

 

_ Once they had driven three towns over, John spoke again. “Dean.” _

 

_ “Yes, sir?” _

 

_ “I want you to remember: having nothing is better than selling yourself to a man.” _

 

_ Dean nodded in the backseat. “Okay, sir.” _

 

_ “You got that, Dean? Dean? DEAN? DEEEE A NNNN _

 

“Dean!” Dean was being shaken await. “Dean? Dean, are you okay?” Castiel asked.

 

“Oh.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face and sat up in his bed. Castiel was kneeling on the spare mattress on the floor beside the bed, hovering over him like a worried mother bird. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

Castiel sat back on his haunches, a concerned expression on his face. “You were having a nightmare.”

 

_ Not a nightmare, worse. A memory. _

 

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean said. He wasn’t though, his heart was pounding and all he could feel was the phantom pressure of the stranger’s lips on his, the sting across his cheek from his father’s palm. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“Okay,” Castiel conceded. He laid back down and pulled the covers over himself, sort of like a mummy.

 

Dean laid back down too, tucking the blanket up under his chin. He tried to go back to sleep, to count sheep, but nothing was working. He flipped on his other side and tried again, but then flipped back when he realized it was futile. “Hey, Cas?” he whispered. “You still up?”

 

Castiel pulled back the covers and glared at Dean. “Of course, I am. You’re fucking loud, Winchester.” He opened his mouth to make another snarky comment, but quickly closed it when he saw the expression on Dean’s face. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay, Dean?” he asked, voice gentle.

 

Castiel’s voice, quiet and soft, was the last straw for Dean. He took one look at Castiel’s ocean eyes and started to cry. Violent sobs wracked his body, and the bed shook from his convulsions.

 

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up in concern. “Dean? Dean, what’s wrong?”

 

Dean tried to answer, tried to whisper,  _ Nothing _ , but he couldn’t. He could only cry. He felt positively pathetic, losing it like this in front of his friend.

 

“Hey, Dean? I’m going to come up, okay?” Castiel said, voice soothing like honey.

 

He approached the bed cautiously, waiting for Dean to protest. But he didn’t, the only thing that did was the bed under Castiel’s weight. He slid under the covers beside Dean. Slowly, allowing Dean to pull away if he wanted to, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, drawing him in.

 

Dean tried not to, he really did, but he couldn’t seem to help fisting his hands in Castiel’s undershirt and burying his face in Castiel’s chest, crying as quietly as he could, so as not to disturb Sam, who was probably asleep in the room next door.

 

Castiel rubbed Dean’s back in soothing circles. “It’s okay, Dean. Whatever it is, it’s okay now. It’s not real.”

 

_ But it is! _ Dean wanted to cry.

 

But he didn’t. Instead, he wiped his eyes and offered Castiel a wobbly grin. “Thanks, Cas.”

 

“Of course.” Castiel sat up and lifted the blankets, making to move back to his bed, but Dean caught his wrist. Castiel looked between the hand on his wrist and Dean in disbelief.

 

“Could you… um…” Dean swallowed. “Would you mind staying with me tonight?”

 

Castiel shocked expression melted into something softer. “Of course, Dean.”

 

They settled into bed together, warm and comforted.

 

And they didn’t acknowledge that they woke up with Castiel holding Dean against him, their legs tangled together.

 

Or the next time it happened. Or the time after that. Or every other time that followed.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=3477aeg)  



	4. Fifteen

15

John Winchester died on a Thursday.

Too many important things happened on Thursdays.

Dean hadn’t heard from his father in six years, not an apology or a greeting or a ‘How’s Sam doing, Dean?’

Well, maybe he had, but Dean had insisted that if his father ever called, Bobby was not to tell him. He had had enough poison in his life, and he didn’t need his father making more nightmares for him. Dean was pretty sure he was developing a co-dependency complex. He could only sleep soundly if Castiel was beside him now. Sometimes he thought that was the only positive thing that had come out of his nightmares, that he had an excuse to have Castiel beside him.

But then, John died.

“Dean,” Bobby said. “Dean. I’m sorry. I…” Bobby wrung his hands, unsure of what to do or say.

Dean felt his legs buckle underneath him, and he collapsed in a pile of horror and disbelief.

“Jesus, Dean!” Bobby shouted, surging forward. He knelt beside Dean and rubbed his shoulder, trying to be comforting. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Dean answered. “I’m not… I… what am I going to do? Sammy-”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Bobby said, voice soft.

“Oh, god. What am I… what am I going to do, what am I going to tell him?” Dean asked. He felt something burn in his chest. “Cas. Cas. I need… I need Cas-”

“Dean, maybe you should-” Bobby started, but he was cut off by Dean pushing Bobby off of him and sprinting away, out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Dean heard Bobby calling for him, but he didn’t look back.

Cas. He needed Castiel.

He ran across the street, which was luckily deserted. He felt the wind bite at him, whispering all the memories he’d been trying to forget, all the things his father told him. He gritted his teeth.

Cas. He needed Cas and he was going to find Cas and he would be home, he was always home when he wasn’t with Dean and he would be home because Dean needed him and needed him to be.

“Cas!” he yelled, running up to the doorstep of the Novak’s house. He pounded on the door. “Cas!”

Dean heard the soft thumping of footfalls and the door opened to show Gabriel, who looked very disgruntled and very hungover. “The fuck, Dean?”

“Cas,” was all that Dean said.

“He’s upstairs doing homework, the nerd,” Gabriel said, stepping aside for Dean to enter the house. He rubbed his eyes and peered at Dean. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to cry,” Gabriel commented.

Dean wasted no time answering Gabriel. He pushed past the older boy and thundered up the stairs to Castiel’s room. He knocked on Castiel’s door loudly. “Cas!”

“Dean?” he heard a voice ask. The door clicked open uncertainly, and Castiel peeked out. His hair was messy and sticking out in tufts of dark silk, and he had a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

And then all Dean could see was Cas.

“Dean?”

Dean felt a rogue tear slid down his cheek as he slowly felt himself go numb.

Castiel leaned forward and wiped the tear away with the pad of his thumb gently. He waited for Dean to say something.

“My dad…” Dean whispered.

Castiel nodded, encouraging Dean to continue, his hand still resting on Dean’s face.  
“He’s dead, Cas.” Dean breathed. “He’s dead.”

The color drained from Castiel’s face. “Oh, shit.” Castiel’s hand raised to cover his mouth in horror. “Oh, Dean…”

Dean swallowed, trying to hold back the flood of tears that was sure to come. “Could I… come in, Cas?”

Castiel nodded, eyes still wide and shocked, and the hand that cupped Dean’s cheek drifted down to grab his hand and pull him into Castiel’s room, slamming the door shut behind them. As soon as the door was closed, Castiel tugged their clasped hands towards himself forcefully, making Dean stumble forward into Castiel’s open arms. Dean felt his knees buckle, and Castiel held him the entire way to the ground.

Dean didn’t like to show himself feeling weak, or pathetic, or sad, but when Castiel ran his hand in smooth, comforting circles on Dean’s back, making soothing noises, Dean felt his resolve crumble. Fat tears spilled from the corners of Dean’s green eyes and trailed down his cheeks, dripping from his jawline.

Castiel tightened his arms around Dean as he sobbed, letting Dean fist his hands in his shirt and bury his face in his chest. They stayed in that embrace for a long time, until Dean’s eyes had run dry.

“I-I’m sorry, Cas, for bringing you in-into this…”

“Shhh…” Castiel silenced him. He tucked a hand under Dean’s chin and tilted it up so Dean was forced to look in Castiel’s electric blue eyes. Dean was suddenly aware of every pinprick of skin that was touching Castiel, feeling the buzz of touch and the earth-shattering pooling of something in his stomach. “Dean, I’m here for you.”

Dean couldn’t look away from Castiel. “I like your glasses,” he mumbled.

Castiel looked confused. “What?”

“Oh, um…” Dean cringed and swallowed. “I like your glasses.”

“Oh. Thank you?” Castiel still seemed perplexed but he took the compliment. When he spoke next, it was cautious and timid. “Do you want to talk about it, Dean?”

Dean felt his heart seize up. “Oh, no, no, no I’m… I’m good. Totally fine. A+, really. Really, truly, completely okay!” His voice rang false and so wrong that it made Dean want to throw up.

Castiel looked worried. “Dean-”

“You know, I’m… I’m tired. Exhausted really! I think I’m going to go to bed,” Dean proclaimed, jumping up and out of Castiel’s arms and walking toward the door. Castiel stood and quickly caught Dean’s hand.

“Wait, Dean!” He tugged Dean’s hand sharply, making him turn to face him. “Are you sure?”

Dean watched Castiel’s lips as he spoke, in a sort of abject fascination at how he made each syllable sound like a lullaby. He nodded. “I’m… I’m sure.”

Castiel didn’t look sure, but he let go of Dean. “If you need anything, Dean, anything at all, come to me, okay?”

Dean let out a half-hearted laugh. “What if I break into your house at two in the morning and demand that you make me pie?”

“Then I’ll make you pie.” His voice was dead serious. “Anything you want, anything you need.”

Dean felt himself nod. “Okay, Cas.”

“Okay.” Castiel let go of Dean.

Dean nodded again. He didn’t want to say goodbye, but he walked toward Castiel’s door anyway. When his hand rested on the door handle, he hesitated. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the warmth, the comfort, of Castiel for the harsh reality of the world outside his room. If he left, he would have to face Anna and Gabriel’s questions. He’d have to walk home, alone, face Bobby. He’d have to tell his eleven-year old brother that their father had died.

Castiel noticed his hesitation and came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” His voice was soft, his grip loose, so Dean could leave if he wanted to. The thing was, Dean didn’t want to.

“Okay.” Dean was quiet, barely a whisper, but Castiel heard him somehow.

Castiel led him towards his bed, which was unmade as if sleep wasn’t a priority. Dean eyed the pile of papers on Castiel’s desk, the way his chair was hastily turned out, as if he had jumped out of it.

“Were you working?” Dean asked.

“No,” Castiel said. They both knew he was lying, but they both wanted an excuse to stay together.

Castiel slid into bed first, the sheets rustling. Dean realized that this entire time, Castiel had only been clothed in a soft gray tee-shirt and ridiculous blue plaid boxers. Dean swallowed heavily and looked away. He didn’t look at Castiel when he kicked off his jeans, but he could feel Castiel’s eyes ghosting over him. Dean didn’t check to see if it was concern at the gallery of faded scars, casual interest, or perhaps, something more.

Castiel lifted the comforter for Dean to join him. Dean padded over to him and climbed onto the bed. Castiel had a fancy-ass waterbed mattress, a gift from his rarely-seen writer father. While it was more comfortable than Dean’s own mattress, it also had a lot more give and the weight of the two boys caused them to migrate together in a dip in the center of the mattress.

Dean laid on his side, facing away from Castiel and towards the door, but he was acutely aware of the warmth pressed behind him. Castiel slid an arm around Dean’s waist, loosely as always, allowing Dean to push away if he wanted. Sometimes, when his father’s whispers got too bad, he wouldn’t let Castiel touch him at all. Castiel always, always respected him though. Always. And Dean couldn’t understand why. He let Castiel hold him, comfort him.

Castiel’s hand was pressed against Dean’s chest, and Dean placed his hand over it carefully, lacing their fingers together. Something about it felt more intimate than any other time they’d cuddled. Dean didn’t like that word, too chick-flick moment-y, but it was better than saying they slept together, which came with a whole other slew of connotations.

“You never talk about him,” Castiel mumbled, voice rough with the attempt to be quiet.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“Forgive me if I overstep, but do you… do you want to?” Castiel asked.

Dean tensed up, and Castiel noticed. He ducked his head so it was level with Dean’s shoulder and he leaned against it gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, pressing his eyes closed against the onslaught of bitter memories that were flashing to the surface. “I haven’t talked about that part of my life in six years, Cas.”

Castiel nodded against Dean’s shoulder. “I know, Dean.”

“The shit that I went through, that we went through, me and Sammy, it transcends fucked-up, Cas. It’s like a friggin’ therapist’s field day,” Dean said.

Dean could feel Castiel’s eyebrows scrunching together in concern and confusion. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

Dean’s resounding laugh was wry and dreadful. “You ever wonder why I never talk about my life before Sammy and I came here? Sammy, he doesn’t remember much, but I do. God, I do.”

“Dean?” Castiel asked, voice uncertain. “What do you mean?”

“My dad was psycho, Cas. Maybe he was okay before mom died, but after he went nuts. My mom was a great woman. Loved me and Sammy more than anything in the world. She used to say an angel watched over me. She must’ve been wrong though.

November 2, 1983, someone broke into the house through Sammy’s nursery window. My mom must’ve heard, because she ran in and the guy slit her stomach, duct-taped her to the ceiling, and set her on fire.”

Castiel was completely still behind Dean. “Oh my god.”

Dean continued. “My dad woke up, probably smelled the smoke, and sprinted upstairs. Saw the nursery was on fire, but he still ran in and grabbed Sammy. He gave me Sammy and told me to run, so I did. He tried to get mom out, but he couldn’t. Still has the scars to prove it.” Dean laughed then, and it was a little hysterical, disbelieving. “Oops. See what I did there? I said he has the scars to prove it. Present tense. Can’t do that anymore, can I?”

Castiel’s voice was soothing, clenching his hand tighter around Dean’s, grounding him “Dean?”

Dean took a breath. “Sorry. Sorry.” He took another breath. “I’m good.” He started again. “My dad went crazy, became obsessed with finding the guy who killed Mom. He decided to track him, hunt him down. He was ex-military, good at tracking and hunting, that sort of thing. My brother and I, we had to go along for the ride. Mostly me. Sam was a baby still, I was four. My dad was a sort of vigilante, going around, killing the people who killed. I had to watch Sammy. Protect Sammy, that’s what he always said. Protect him. He’s the important one.

My dad had me help him with hunts sometimes. I shot a gun for the first time when I was six, shot a man when I was seven. I never killed though, never could do that. My dad said it made me weak, but I think it makes me strong.

He never liked me, not as much as Sammy. I look too much like Mary, I think. I reminded him of what he had lost. Also, he thought I was too pretty, too soft. That caused a lot of problems. When you’re on the road and broke, people tend to notice and then try to ‘help’ you by taking advantage of you. Of course, if it was a girl I had to flirt with to get dinner, he’d be fine with it. But if it was a guy, he’d get furious. He beat me up a couple of times, called me a faggot. I still did it sometimes though, because food is food is food, no matter how it’s acquired.”

“How young were you?” Castiel asked.

“Six, seven, eight,” Dean answered.

“Jesus,” Castiel whispered.

Dean kept going. “Sammy started getting older though, and damn, he was smart. Taught himself to read from stolen books. Taught himself addition, subtraction, multiplication, all that shit. Taught me too. And I knew, if I didn’t get him to school and away from all the crap of hunting and tracking and killing, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

So, I put some sleeping pills in my dad’s whiskey, and when he passed out that night, I packed as quick as I could, stole a map and some cash and Bobby’s address. Only man I ever did trust. Then I got Sammy, and we left.

First few nights, I took us the round-about way, just to make sure he wouldn’t follow us. We were good for about a week, hitched with a nice family that fed us for free, but after they left, we ran out of money quick. No one else was eager to feed or drive two filthy kids across the country on their own dime. So, I had to work.”

Castiel’s voice was horrified. “How?”

“I…” Dean swallowed. He hadn’t ever told anyone this, hadn’t thought about it in years. At the time he was too young to truly understand what he was doing, he just knew that he needed the money, and that was it. But now, Dean knew, understood, what he had done, and it made his stomach turn in horror and tears prick in his eyes. “I…” He could tell Castiel anything, but if he told him this, what would happen? Dean would finally have to admit it to himself. “I turned tricks.” He stated, resolutely. “It fed Sammy, and it was quick, most of the time. It paid well. It was… easy.”

“Oh god, Dean,” Castiel muttered. “Oh god.”

Dean turned to face Castiel, their hands still interlinked, Castiel’s eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t believe in God, Cas. Don’t think I could even if I wanted to. Not anymore.”

Castiel did cry then, crying for Dean and all he had been through, burying his face in the junction between Dean’s warm neck and shoulder. Dean cried too, staring glassily at white wall. Castiel’s tears stung for some reason against his skin, but Dean didn’t mind, couldn’t mind.

“Why do you have so many scars, Dean?” he asked, like he already knew the answer.

“My dad…” Dean started, and swallowed. “He used to test his new knives on me. Just shallow cuts. Never to kill.”

Castiel cried harder then, frantically pressing feathery kisses of apology against the freckles of Dean’s neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, Dean.”

“I’m here now, we’re here now, we’re safe now,” Dean whispered, like a mantra. He wiped a tear off of his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “And we’ll be okay because it’s over. It’s all over.”

They fell asleep like that, in tears and tangled together. Dean was the first to wake in the morning. He unraveled himself from Castiel’s grip, and quickly pressed a kiss against his forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for being my friend.”

Castiel groaned, rough with sleep, and turned over.

Dean walked home alone numbly, carrying his shoes, after accepting hugs from Anna and Gabriel, who had somehow found out, most likely from Bobby. The front door was unlocked, and as soon as he stepped inside, he saw Bobby and Sam curled up on the couch, fast asleep. They had been waiting for him. At the noise of the front door clicking open, Sam woke up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Dean?” he murmured.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Dean answered softly.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, jumping up from the couch and running over to his brother, throwing his arms around him. “Where were you?”

Bobby sat up, took one look at Dean, and glowered. “A word of warning next time before you hightail it out of here, ya idjit.” He walked over to them, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“I went to Cas’s,” Dean said.

“We figured,” Bobby said, voice gruff. “Gabriel called.”

“Oh,” Dean swallowed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“I don’t blame you, Dean,” Bobby insisted. “It’s just…”

“I was worried about you.” Sam whispered, his arms still firmly wrapped around Dean.  
Dean felt his heart constrict. How could he not have been there for Sammy? Selfish, selfish. Protect Sammy, the one thing his dad had gotten right.

Protect Sammy.

 

 

Dean watches Castiel at school.

Castiel always sits in the front row, middle seat of their classrooms so he can see. Contacts were too itchy for him, and when he tried to bring his glasses, some asshole upperclassman had broken them before Dean could tell him to stop.

Dean always sits in the third from the back row, on the left-most side, where he can sit next to the windows. He likes to watch the sky from inside the classroom, but he likes to watch Castiel more.

His eyes get all squinty when he looks at the whiteboard, and his pen glides a million miles an hour over his paper. Dean knows that all Castiel’s notes are color-coded and his handwriting looked like a font. His hair is ruffled from his constant nervous habit of aggressively running his hands through it. And hanging off the back of his chair like usual, is the obnoxious trench coat that Dean has threatened to burn on more than one occasion.

“Why do you even like that thing? It’s hideous, and you freeze your ass off in it anyway!”

Castiel fisted his hands in the tan fabric. “I like it.”

“But why?”

When he looked up at Dean, his eyes were wide and innocent, and all Dean wanted to do was kiss him, soft and slow like he told himself he didn’t dream about. “Because I was wearing this when we met.”

After that, Dean decides that Castiel looks pretty in his trench coat.

“Winchester!” someone whispered harshly. “Winchester!”

Dean snapped out of his stupor to see the boy beside him, who was prissy and blond and had tried to recruit the mysterious Dean Winchester into his friend group on multiple occasions, put a note on his desk.

Dean unfolded the paper to read the note, written on crisp graph paper with shiny blue ink.

Winchester-

How could you possibly be friends with the faggot? You should try running with people a little more your speed.

Bartholomew

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=npgbhd)  


Dean looked up and saw a few of Bartholomew’s cronies throwing things at Castiel. An eraser hit him in the back of his head and he flinched, keeping his eyes trained on the board.

Dean turned to face the boy beside him, who was grinning charmingly.

Dean wordlessly stood up and socked him right in the eye.

 

 

Castiel was wearing his glasses and Dean found it very distracting.

“Dean?” Castiel asked. “Are you… are you paying attention?”

Dean blushed furiously. “Yeah, yeah, Latin, right?”

Castiel eyed him strangely. “We’re working on Math…”

“Oh, um… obviously.” He flipped through the pages of his notebook. “I was just thinking about Latin.”

“Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah?” Dean responded.

“You take Spanish,” Castiel dead-panned.

“Oh.” Dean uncapped his pen with shaky hands. “Well, that’s probably why I’m failing.”

Castiel snorted and put down his paper, scooting closer to Dean. They were seated on Dean’s bed, papers spilled around them as they ‘worked on homework’. Castiel did homework. Dean thought about doing Castiel.

“What are you really thinking about?” Castiel asked.

How I always feel like I’m drowning when I look at you. “Uh… Bela?” he offered.

Castiel let out a breath almost disappointedly. “Her. She’s pretty… intense, isn’t she?”

“Insane,” Dean corrected with a grin. “She’s hot as hell.”

“Belongs in hell too,” Castiel muttered.

“Woah,” Dean smirked. “I’m sensing some tension here. What’d she do to you?”

Castiel grimaced. “She’s just… not the nicest person.”

Dean shrugged. “Can’t disagree with you there,” he considered. “Still hot, though.”

Castiel’s mouth was pressed into a thin line. “I guess…”

“Speaking of hot girls!” Dean proclaimed. “Guess what I heard?”

“What?” Castiel asked. He did not sound nearly as excited as Dean was forcing himself to be.

“I heard that April likes you,” he said. And April was right to like his friend; Castiel was hot and more people needed to recognize that.

Castiel frowned. “Yay,” he murmured, turning back to his paper.

“C’mon Cas. She’s pretty! You should ask her out, you need to get out more,” Dean encouraged him, ignoring the pang in his heart.

“What did you get for number seven?” Castiel asked.

“What? Cas!” Dean whined. He slumped over, head falling soundly on Castiel’s pile of homework, forcing him to look at Dean. “Why won’t you ask her out?”

“Dean…” Cas warned.

“C’mon, why not? She’s attractive and nice and smart-”

Castiel cut him off. “Dean!”

“What?”

“I’m gay, okay?” Castiel said, screwing his eyes shut, afraid of Dean’s reaction.

Dean felt his heart stop. “I’m happy too, buddy…” His voice trailed off, chuckling awkwardly.

Castiel fixed Dean with an exasperated look. “Don’t be stupid, Dean. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Cas, you aren’t gay,” Dean said, shaking his head.

Castiel raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Um, I think I’d know, Dean.”

Dean sat up awkwardly. “You aren’t funny, you know.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Castiel said.

Dean swallowed. “Well, then you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you? Please, Dean, try to understand, okay? I don’t want this to get in the way of our friendship.” Castiel frowned. “Your brother said you’d be supportive…”

Dean balked. “Sam? You told my eleven-year old brother before me?”

“Yes, but-”

Dean cut him off. “Why didn’t you tell me first?”

“Well, maybe I was afraid you’d react like this!” Castiel shouted.

“I would have told you first!” Dean yelled back.

“But you don’t have to worry about that, do you?” Castiel shot back.

Dean ran his hands through his hair exasperatedly, feeling the air charge with the question. “Cas…”

Castiel’s voice grew quieter. “Do you?” he asked.

“You don’t… god, Cas… I don’t…” Dean stuttered.

“What?” Castiel reached forward and tipped Dean’s chin up, forcing Dean to look up at him. “You don’t what?”

As Dean gazed up at Castiel, he felt himself catalogue every inch, every centimeter between the two of them. Dean’s eyes glazed over Castiel’s features until they found his lips, pink and slightly chapped from his habit of licking them whenever he was nervous. As if on cue, Castiel’s tongue smoothed over his bottom lip, temporarily easing the discomfort of the dryness. Dean watched him with a sort of reverence, feeling his heart swell.

Castiel raised an eyebrow in annoyance. “You don’t what, Dean?” he prompted.

Castiel was staring at Dean with his fucking stunning blue eyes with equal parts intensity and annoyance, and when Dean looked into those eyes, Castiel’s eyes, like oceans and seas and the places in between, like promises and desires Dean never allowed himself to dream of, he felt something inside him snap. 

He rushed forward, cupping Castiel’s face in his hands, and he sealed his lips against Castiel’s, kissing him squarely on the mouth. The kiss was quick, just two pairs of slightly chapped lips pressed firmly on each other before Castiel was pushing Dean away. Fists gripping the fabric of Dean’s shirt tightly, Castiel forced them apart, a look of unadulterated shock on his face.

Dean could feel his features melt into a mask of horror. What had he just done? Cas would never speak to him again, never want to see him again. Dean had fucked everything up-

“What was that?” Castiel asked, voice low and gravelly.

Dean shivered at the tone. “N-nothing,” he muttered, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. Castiel adjusted his grip on Dean’s shirt, but didn’t let go. 

Castiel caught Dean’s gaze. “You just kissed me.”

“Oh,” Dean swallowed. “I guess?” I did and I don’t regret it.

Castiel licked his lips and Dean followed the action, remembering what it was like to feel Castiel’s lips against his, if only for a fleeting moment. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” Dean asked, voice hushed.

“Yes,”

“Why?”

“Do you like me?” Castiel asked, and Dean knew he meant as more than what they were now.

“You’re my best friend,” Dean said, like it should explain everything. “And you’re a boy.”

“That’s true,” Castiel whispered, flicking his eyes down. When he looked back up, he cocked his head to the side in a strangely bird-like position. “Does that matter to you?”

It should. Every fiber of Dean’s being was flooded with the sound of his father’s berations, but as Dean took in the quirk of Castiel’s lips, the curiosity of his gaze, Dean felt the words of his father fade. “No,” he whispered.

Dean had only a moment to savor the smile that graced Castiel’s features before he gently pulled Dean in by the fabric of his shirt, capturing Dean’s lips in a careful kiss, soft enough that it would allow Dean to pull away if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. 

Instead, Dean kissed him back, deeply, drawing his tongue against the seal of Castiel’s lips, urging him to open up. Castiel parted his lips, allowing Dean to lick into the heat of his mouth, their tongues dancing together. 

Dean was done fighting with himself, at least for now, when his thoughts were too muddled with Cas, Cas, oh god, all of him, to make him second-guess his feelings. 

Castiel slipped his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer as he lay down, so Dean was hovering over him on all fours, shivering and shaking with nerves and excitement, giddy and high with the taste of Castiel on his tongue. He tasted fresh and crisp, like a cutting breeze over a meadow, or a cold drink on a hot day. Something sharp and comforting and commanding of attention. Dean knew he was addicted, and somehow it scared him, because he knew he’d never get enough.

“Dean…” Castiel moaned against Dean’s lips, and Dean felt a jolt a electricity run down his spine. Dean pulled back a little bit, just enough to see Castiel’s irises blown wide in arousal, before leaning in to kiss the junction between Castiel’s neck and shoulder. He worked without thinking, only feeling and listening to Castiel’s cacophony of pleasure, until Castiel was thoroughly marked. A constellation of purpling bruises lined Castiel’s neck and collarbone, and Dean gazed down on them with something stirring in the pit of his chest, something unnameable and precious.

 

 

An hour later, they lay together, still fully clothed, on top of Dean’s bed. Dean’s ankle was firmly linked around Castiel’s, and Dean was mashing his lips together, marveling at their post-kiss puffiness.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, picking up Dean’s hand. He trailed his pointer finger along the lines of his palm, as if trying to find secrets hidden there.

“Yeah?” Dean responded, still staring up at the ceiling, still reveling in the luxurious pressure of Castiel’s head on his chest.

“What are we?” he asked simply and briskly, as if asking about the weather. Dean knew that Castiel’s informality was practiced, a habit he took on when he was nervous and unsure, which rarely happened.

But that was a good question. What were they? Best friends, that went without saying. But now? Were they more? Dean felt that peculiar emotion shift uncomfortably in his chest. Dean wanted Castiel, wanted his entirety, wanted his thoughts and lips and hands and heart, wanted him whole and all for Dean. And the attachment frightened him, made him tense up, like someone might come up and attack him with his guard down. He felt more vulnerable than he had allowed himself to be in years, but he also knew that once this spell was broken, once Dean responded to Castiel’s question, he was either inviting his father’s words or his own. If he said yes, he knew that layered upon the ridicule he might encounter from his classmates and his town. He’d also have to deal with the ghost of his father’s voice turning from a whisper to a shout. Dean still had nightmares of his father beating him, hurling insults, especially faggot. John called Dean that so often in the later years that Dean had almost started to forget his real name.

But if Dean said yes, he’d have Castiel. And as much as he would like to be able to refute it, deep down he knew that was all he had wanted for a very long time.

And if Dean said no, what would happen? He’d spare himself and Castiel the misery of everyday existence in a not super accepting town. He’d spare his brother the knowledge that his older brother liked boys. He’d spare Sam the teasing that would inevitably accompany that. But he might lose Castiel, and Dean didn’t think he could bare that.

“I don’t… I don’t know, Cas,” Dean stuttered. “I-I can’t-”

“How about,” Castiel cut him off, “we keep this a secret for a while?” 

“What?” Dean eyed him with confusion.

“You don’t feel comfortable being openly gay, right?” Castiel asked.

Faggot. “I’m not gay,” Dean stated, his voice like iron.

Castiel lifted Dean’s hand up to his lips, kissing his palm gently, and Dean felt the tension drain out of him. “Okay, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was soft, not condescending. “But you like me.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

Castiel kissed Dean’s palm once more. “So let’s keep this- us- a secret for now.”

“You’re okay with that?” Dean asked cautiously.

Castiel looked up at Dean, staring deep into his eyes. “Dean, as long as I have you, I’m fine with anything.”

Dean leaned down and kissed him chastely, and Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s, holding their linked hands to his heart.

 

 

The next day, Castiel bore Dean’s marks proudly and silently, giving everyone who inquired after the origin of the hickeys the same leveled stare. 

When Castiel found Dean at his house later that day, they snuck up to Dean’s room and Castiel sucked a map of bruises on Dean’s neck to match his own.

And for once, Dean felt like being someone’s might not actually be a bad thing.


	5. Seventeen

17

 

“Mornin’ idjits! Serve your damn selves!” Bobby shouted, gesticulating wildly with his spatula. “‘Cause I made this food, so I sure as hell ain’t servin’ it too!”

 

Dean let out a helpless laugh. “You’re in a good mood, Bobby.”

 

“Just pick a fucking pancake!”

 

In was the summer before senior year, and Dean was blissful. School was going fine, thanks to Castiel’s tutoring  — _though that’s rarely what happened, considering how irresistible Dean found Castiel in his glasses_ —  his relationship with Castiel was going wonderfully — and no one had found them out yet besides Sam and Gabriel. Gabriel was off at college studying theater, much to his parents dismay, so he had no one to tell, and Sam knew how to keep a secret. Dean and Castiel had even started looking at colleges together. Dean hadn’t realized he could be this happy, hadn’t thought he even deserved to find out.

 

“Dean! Dean!” Sam was ecstatic, bouncing around in his newly minted 13-year-old body, his lustrous chin-length brown hair flouncing about. “Do you think he’s here yet? Do you think he’s on his way?”

 

Sam was so animated because Gabriel was back from college for a few weeks, and Sam had missed him dearly. 

 

“He should be here soon, Sammy,” Dean laughed, ruffling his brother’s hair fondly.

 

Sam crossed his arms and proceeded to give Dean a look that was classified only as ‘Bitchface’. “Dean, I’m too old to be called Sammy anymore. It’s just Sam now.”

 

“I can call you whatever I want,  _ Sammy _ ,” Dean teased. “”Cause I’m the big brother and I make the rules!”

 

Sammy threw his arms up in mock exasperation. “Ugh Dean… you’re such a-”

 

Dean cut in, “Bitch?”

 

“Jerk!”

 

“Actually, ya idjits, I make the rules,” Bobby said, pointing at them with his spatula. “And I say that you’ll stop fucking cursing and get your damn breakfast!”

 

“Hypocrite,” Sam muttered, a grin creeping over his features anyway.

 

Bobby grunted in assent and picked up the platter of pancakes, holding it out for Sam to fill his plate.

 

“Good morning, darlings!” a voice sing-songed. Dean turned to see Gabriel in the open doorway, a hand thrust flamboyantly into the air. He raised an eyebrow with an accompanying smirk. “Did you miss me?”

 

Sam burst into a grin. “Yes!” He ran up to Gabriel and threw his arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

 

“Well, hello there, Sammy!” Gabriel grinned. He was about to move to kneel beside him, but he realized that Sam had indeed grown tall enough that that wasn’t necessary anymore. “You’ve gotten tall!”

 

“Of course it’s fine when  _ he _ calls him Sammy,” Dean grumbled to himself.

 

“And your hair! It’s so long and shiny!” Gabriel said, running his hands through a blushing Sam’s hair. “You  _ must  _ tell me what conditioner you use!”

 

“Are you gonna let us in or should we get breakfast somewhere else?” Anna said with a bored expression before the tell-tale snap of her chewing gum came.

 

“Oops!” Gabriel giggled like a schoolgirl and held a hand out to Sam, who took it gratefully. “Let’s get pancakes!”

 

They ran to the pancakes, Sam staring in awe at the older boy, while Dean tried to fight back his laughter at the sight.

 

“Hey Dean,” Anna greeted him with a fan of her eyelashes and the popping of a pink bubble. 

 

Dean tried his best to be civil to his secret boyfriend’s flirtatious older sister, but ended up stuttering a slightly confused, “Um… hi…”

 

Anna winked at him as she headed towards the food, leaving Dean both surprised and more confused than before.  _ Why was Anna flirting with him?  _

 

Castiel came in after Anna, looking like a complete wreck, still in pajamas and glasses askew. 

 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean wolf-whistled sarcastically, taking in Castiel’s dark expression.

 

“Bite me, Dean,” Castiel said, rubbing a hand across his stubbly chin. At 17, Castiel had grown to just below Dean’s height, his shoulders broadened and his hips narrowed, with thick thighs and runner’s calves. Dean counted himself lucky that his best friend was also his beautiful, if secret, boyfriend. 

 

He still got that feeling though, deep in his stomach. That twist of uncertainty, self-loathing, and doubt. But Dean was a pro at bottling up his feelings. So, he was fine! Completely and utterly fine. He didn’t have night terrors that he didn’t tell Castiel about, of his father hurling fists and words, of men he didn’t know touching him in places they shouldn’t, of having to tell Sammy that they had no food left, nowhere to sleep, no place to go. He didn’t flinch whenever he heard the word  _ faggot _ , and he wouldn’t even talk to Sam about his complicated sexuality, but he was fine.

 

“I’d love to bite you, Cas,” Dean grinned wolfishly. “But I hardly think this is the time or place for that.”

 

“Ha ha,” Castiel deadpanned. He walked up to Dean, looked to make sure no one was in eyesight, and kissed him quickly on the lips. “Go fuck yourself, Winchester. You have coffee?”

 

“Kitchen,” Dean smiled. He reached forward and tapped the frame of Castiel’s glasses. “God, I love these.”

 

“I know,” Castiel smiled sleepily. “Okay, I need caffeine and syrup. C’mon.”

 

Dean followed Castiel into the kitchen, his features melting into something gentle, sweet, and undeniably happy.

  
  
  
  
  


“Winchester!” The boy drunkenly leered at Dean, waving his hands wildly. “How the fuck are you? Never see you at these things man, you’re missing out!”

 

“Yeah, I’m not really into partying, Andy,” Dean admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking at the clearly stoned younger boy. 

 

The brunette’s mouth fell open in shock. “But, dude! There’s pot, and girls with  _ boobs _ !”

 

“More for you, then,” Dean answered, voice amused. 

 

Andy considered, then seemed to warm up to the idea, nodding vigorously. “True, true, true… very considerate of you, Dean, saving some for the rest of us.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

 

Andy gestured to Dean’s neck, where his leather jacket only partially obscured the reddish-purple hickeys that were grouped on Dean’s clavicle. “You’ve had a steady hook-up for two years, and you aren’t really trying to hide it. Everyone’s just wondering when we’ll meet the girl.” Andy wolf-whistled and took a sip of the beer in his hand. “She must be fre-ak-y though, seeing as you always look like you’ve been attacked by leeches.” Andy didn’t wait for Dean to respond, instead sending his gaze over to Castiel, who was standing beside Dean looking very uncomfortable. “At least Castiel’s girl knows how to keep her lovebites subtle, ya know?”

 

Castiel shifted for a moment before speaking. “I think I’m going to get a drink. Do you want something, Dean?”

 

“Beer,” Dean responded. He was going to need to be tipsy if he was going to survive this party.

 

They were at Bela Talbot’s big “We’re Seniors Now!” bash at her posh-ass house at the edge of town. She forcibly vacated her parents from the house, and filled it to the brim with beer and illegal substances fit for a high school party. Dean hadn’t wanted to go, but Castiel had talked him into it.

 

_ “Dean, I’m about to be a senior, and I’ve never been to a high school party,” said Castiel. “It’s depressing.” _

 

_ “They aren’t that fun, Cas.” Dean pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Castiel’s jaw, nibbling gently. “We could have much more fun here.” _

 

_ “As tempting as that is, Charlie’s requiring me to have at least one normal high school experience, and I told her we’d come to this thing.” Castiel shrugged Dean off with some difficulty. “We can finish this later though.” _

 

_ Dean grinned. “Promise?” _

 

_ “Promise.” _

 

Dean tried to look angsty and mysterious so no one would talk to him, but his leather jacket and intimidating demeanor didn’t seem to deter any attention.

 

“Oh my god, it’s Dean Winchester! I didn’t think we’d ever see you domesticated. What happened to the young and wild? You never come to parties!” came a tinkling voice. Dean turned to find Bela Talbot, long blonde hair curled meticulously and lithe figure clad in a slinky blanket dress that hugged her exaggerated curves, sauntering over to him.

 

He tried to hide the bubble of unease that coursed through him. Bela was the poster child for not worth the trouble. “Bela. Nice place you got here.”

 

“It is, isn’t it? I’d try to convince you to let me show you my silk sheets, but I don’t think you like me much!” Bela said, seemingly unaffected by the accurate observation.

 

“As tempted as I am, I’ll have to pass,” Dean pasted a flirtatious smirk on his face.

“I thought so.” She smiled sweetly and reached to the side, grabbing the wrist of a reeling red-head. “But you know Anna, right?”

 

_ Shit _ . “Hey, Anna.”

 

“Dean!” Anna cooed, swaying slightly. Clearly, she had had a little to drink, but not enough to qualify as intoxicated, seeing as her gaze was still sharp and clear. “I see your eyes are still the… greenest green to ever green!” she giggled.

 

Dean wedged a hand in his pocket, trying to hide their nervous habit of shaking whenever he felt cornered. “Thanks…” His voice was wary.

 

“See, Anna’s been telling me about all of your… encounters. I was hoping for a little bit of proof, though. Why don’t you kiss your girlfriend, Dean-o?” Bela said.

 

Dean felt his heart stop, and Anna looked as shocked and horrified as he felt.  _ Of course.  _ Dean had a suspicion that Anna was interested in him. And for the last two years, since the day he showed up at school with the smattering of hickeys, he hadn’t been questioned about their origins. He hadn’t realized it had been because someone had already taken credit for them. He just thought he was scary enough not to be messed with. He realized his opinion of himself might be a little too high.

 

“What?” Dean felt himself ask, almost involuntarily.

 

Anna tried to stutter out an excuse, but Bela talked over her. “See, Anna claims that you two have a bit of a thing. Seeing as she’s the only girl in school who says it was her, it must be, right? If anyone else was involved, they’d jump at the chance to say they rolled in the hay with the infamous Dean Winchester. But, no one has but Anna. So, if she’s lying, then that means your hickeys couldn’t be from any girl, could it? Tell me, Dean. Is Anna your girlfriend, or are you so far in the closet that you’re five dimensions past Narnia?”

 

_ “Faggot,” his father whispered. “Filthy fucking faggot. You didn’t deserve to be born.” _

 

“I’m not gay,” Dean insisted. 

 

“Really?” Bela adopted an innocent expression. “So, Anna is your girlfriend?”

 

Dean stilled. He had two options: kiss Anna and make Bela drop this entire matter, or not kiss Anna and out himself to the entirety of the school. He answered Bela in a split-second, his features morphing into an easy smile. “‘Course she’s my girlfriend,” Dean lied fluidly. “She’s supposed to be my  _ secret _ girlfriend though.” He eyed Anna with a mixture of faux annoyance and adoration.

 

“Nice! Good job, Dean!” Andy cheered, lifting his beer bottle in salutation to Dean’s fake accomplishment of having a hot girlfriend.

 

“Wait-” Anna started. 

 

Dean knew in his heart of hearts that if Anna finished her sentence, all of this would go to shit. So, he leaned forward and swept a surprised Anna into a kiss. Dean was about to deepen the kiss, just to make it as realistic as possible, when he heard a bottle shatter.

 

He pulled back from Anna’s lips to see Castiel, his hand still clenched around where the beer bottle had been. The bottle in question though lay in shards around Castiel’s feet though. The boy was staring in shock and horror at his boyfriend wrapped incriminatingly around his sister. 

 

He hid the onslaught of emotion well, but Dean knew the truth from the long blinks and the quick gritting of teeth.

 

The party was quiet, and all eyes were Castiel and the broken bottle. He glanced at the shards of glass around his feet and softly let out a, “Sorry,” before fleeing down the hall.

 

“That carpet is Persian, you asshat!” Bela yelled at his receding form. She turned back to Dean and Anna, a pleasant expression on her stupidly perfect face. “Seems little brother is mad that you got a boyfriend before he did,” she said with a mocking laugh.

 

Dean felt like someone had ducked him in ice water. “Shit.” He pushed back from Anna, taking off after Castiel. “Cas! Wait!”

 

He pursued Castiel down the winding halls, shouting at him to slow down and let him explain. Castiel said nothing, only ran faster through the maze that was Bela’s house, Dean hot on his heels. Dean caught up to him as soon as Castiel turned into a room, catching the door before Castiel slammed it closed. Castiel ran to the satin poster bed, perching on the edge with his head buried in his hands.

 

“Cas,” Dean said, closing the door and locking it. “I can… I can explain-”

 

“My sister?” Castiel spat. He pulled his head away from his hands, shooting Dean a look that displayed how wrecked he was. “Really? Of all the people you could cheat on me with, you chose my fucking sister?”

 

“Shit, Cas, it wasn’t like that,” Dean said. “Bela was saying I was gay and-”

 

“You  _ are _ gay, Dean!” Castiel said.

 

_ Faggot. _

 

“No, no I am not,” Dean insisted. “I am  _ not  _ gay.”

 

“Dean, we’ve been together for  _ two years _ !” Castiel said.

 

“Cas, I am not gay!” Dean gestured between the two of them vaguely. “This is… this is just-”

 

“This is just  _ what _ , Dean? Experimenting?” Castiel stood and stomped towards Dean, a finger pointed at his chest accusatorily. “I  _ refuse _ to be your fucking test subject, Dean!”

 

Dean paled. “Cas, no, that’s not it-”

 

“No, no, no. Stop it, stop it! I know you’re still scared of him, but you shouldn’t be. He’s dead, Dean! He’s dead! Stop letting him control you!” Castiel shouted, gesturing wildly.

 

_ Faggot, filthy, fucking faggot, why don’t you just do us all a favor and die? You faggot faGGOT FAGGOT FAGG GG OOOO TTTTT _

 

“Cas,” Dean warned, bringing his hands up to his head and pressing hard, trying to dispel the voice of his father. “Stop it, just stop-”

 

“I’m in  _ love  _ with you, you selfish asshole!” Castiel screamed. 

 

Dean froze, his heart constricting.  _ What? _

 

“There, I said it. I love you, but I will not lock myself in the closet because you’re a coward.” Castiel pushed past Dean and out of the room, tears falling freely from his eyes.

 

The door slammed shut behind Dean, and Dean leaned against it to steady himself, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. 

 

He replayed Castiel’s words over and over again, like a broken record inside his head.  _ I love you. I’m in love with you. _

 

Dean tucked his knees into his chest, rocking softly back and forth, feeling tears roll down his cheeks in torrential streams. 

 

“I love you,” Dean whispered, tasting the words on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated, like a mantra, like something gentle and simple yet ringing with truth. “I love you.”

 

He felt that emotion buried inside of him  _ crack _ , releasing the poison he kept bottled up inside. The rush of venom through his veins made him feel icy, but he let the toxin flood over him. 

 

_ Faggot. _

 

“I love him,” he whispered, tasting the salt water of his tears

.

_ You’re a waste of space, a mistake. _

 

“I love him so much.” He pressed his eyes closed, still rocking.

 

_ You don’t deserve to live. _

 

“It’s not about deserve,” Dean said. “It’s not about what I deserve.”

 

_ You don’t deserve anything. _

 

“It’s not about me,” Dean said, louder this time, addressing the voice in his head. “It’s about him.”

 

_ You’re disgusting, unnatural, unworthy, unloved- _

 

“No,” Dean shook his head, tears dripping off his chin. “I am loved. I’ve got Sam, and Bobby, and Charlie, and Gabriel, and… and I’ve got Cas. And that’s all that matters.”

 

_ You don’t matter. _

 

“I don’t need to.” Dean’s voice was getting louder transcending to a shout. “I don’t need to matter. Because I love.”

 

_ Filthy, filthy fag- _

 

“But you, you don’t love, not like me or Sam-”

 

_ I AM YOUR FATHER _

 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “You’re dead!” he screamed. “You’re dead, and it’s all over!”

 

_ DEAN _

 

“NO!” He pressed his hands over his ears, trying to block of the memory of his father’s voice. “Go away!”

 

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=4l0m0j)  


Someone knocked on the door hard. “Dean! Dean, let me in!”

 

Dean slid out of the way just before Charlie slammed the door open. The redhead looked furious, but as soon as she saw Dean in tears, her anger melted away. “Oh, Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened? Cas just ran out of the party sobbing…”

 

Charlie closed the door and knelt beside Dean, rubbing a hand on the small of his back comfortingly. “Dean?”

 

“God, Charlie, I…” Dean tried to wipe away his tears but they kept coming faster “I fucked it all up.”

 

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked, eyes imploring.

 

“I…” Dean looked up at the redhead before feeling himself break down. “I love him! God, I love him, Charlie… what do I do?”

 

“Wait, who?” Charlie’s eyebrows furrowed. “I swear to god Dean, if you’re talking about Robert Plant again…”

 

“Cas!” Dean sobbed. 

 

“What?” Charlie asked, her eyebrows jumping up in shock. “Cas?”

 

Dean nodded, still blubbering, and Charlie drew her arms around him, holding him tightly. “I love him so much it hurts, Charlie. But I messed everything up…” Dean cried harder. “I always mess everything up!”

 

“Oh, Dean, I’m sorry,” Charlie murmured. “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, right? You’re Dean and Cas, you’re a package deal. I’m sure whatever happened, it’s going to be fine.”

 

But it wasn’t fine. At all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Dean,” Sam’s voice was like silk, soft and gentle so as not to disturb Dean. Dean hated it. It made him feel like his father when Sam talked like that, cautionary and quiet as if trying not to awaken a sleeping beast.

 

“Hey Sammy,” Dean said, trying to give Sam his brightest smile. Dean knew it fell flat though when Sam’s expression didn’t change. “What’cha hiding there?”

 

Sam revealed the cup that he was hiding behind his back and handed it to Dean. “It’s soup. I made it.”

 

Dean took the mug and wrapped his hands around it, relishing in the warmth. “Thanks, Sammy.”

 

Sam nodded. Dean took a sip as he watched Sam shift from foot to foot like he had something to say but was unsure how to go about saying it. “Go on, Sammy. Spit it out.”

 

Sam sighed and eyed Dean, who was lying in bed, covers pulled tight over him at three in the afternoon. He had been in bed for almost two days, mourning a broken heart and mourning the memory of his father, whose voice finally seemed to have gone quiet. He’d never felt more peaceful or more achingly fractured and alone.

 

“Why won’t you talk to him?” Sam asked.

 

Dean set down the mug. “Who?”

 

“Castiel,” Sam said. “Why won’t you talk to him?”

 

Dean sighed, forcing himself not to cry again. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, Sammy.”

 

“That’s not true,” Sam said.

 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “Please. I can’t-”

 

“You love him.”

 

Dean felt a knife twist in his heart. Insult to injury. “I do.”

 

“You need to tell him.”

 

“I can’t, Sammy. I’m not… I can’t do that.” Dean said, shaking his head.

 

“If you don’t tell him, Dean, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life, I know it.”

Sam was holding his hands out now, imploringly, and Dean had to look away, feeling tears prick in his eyes. “Dean, please.”

 

“Sam…” Dean was going to continue, but he didn’t, only pressing his lips together and shaking his head. He couldn’t.

 

“This is going to destroy you, Dean. Please, tell him!” Sam begged.

 

Dean shook his head, a single tear cascading down his cheek.

 

Sam turned and fled the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

When Dean cried, his tears weren’t sad, they were bitter because Cas was right.

 

He really was a coward.


	6. Nineteen

19

 

Dean remembered.

 

Even when he wished he didn’t, he remembered. Every brush, every touch, every kiss they shared was carved on his skin, etched on his soul, written into the places in himself he tried to forget. His time, blissful and lovely and innocent, with Castiel was over, but it was still precious to him in a way he couldn’t put into words. Dean knew he still loved Castiel, and it still hurt because it doesn’t matter anymore. 

 

Because Castiel moved on.

 

Their last year of high school was unfathomably awkward and painful because they didn’t speak once. The first month of school, Dean tried. He said hello in the halls, but Castiel only pushed up his glasses and walked faster. Not that Dean blamed him

.

Sam had been right.

 

Not telling Castiel was his biggest regret. Dean often wondered what might have happened if he had told Castiel the truth, instead of nothing at all. If he had said all the things he wanted to, how much he loved him, how he wanted to stay up all night and watch as Castiel’s eyes changed with the moon, how he wanted to write promises of his love on Castiel’s skin using only his lips.

 

They weren’t in high school anymore, and Dean locked away his pipe dream, only taking it out when the moon was high and his lips were wrapped around a bottle.

 

They went to the same college, and Dean didn’t quite understand why. Sam told him that Castiel had gotten into Harvard’s linguistics program, but had turned it down and wouldn’t tell anyone why, not even Gabriel. Instead, he went to Augustana University like Dean and Gabriel and Charlie. Anna had opted to go to the University of Michigan for Psychology. Before she left, she visited Dean. She gave him a packet of gum and an apology, and then was off.

 

They all chose to live in the dorms, which felt like a war-zone to Dean. He was constantly having to dodge Castiel or his new friends. Of course, his new friends didn’t even know who he was. Dean wasn’t sure if he prefered that or not. Castiel was still close with Charlie, but he had other people now. Meg Masters, a brusk buxom brunette, Hannah the psychology major, and Samandriel and his girlfriend Hael.

 

Dean had new friends too: along with Charlie, he had Benny Lafitte and Kevin Tran. The bottom line was, Dean was fine. He was studying engineering and passing his classes, perhaps not with flying colors, but at least he was passing, and he had friends who cared about him. He was doing fine.

 

Castiel was doing better though.

 

But what did that matter? They had both made a choice, and that was not to be in each other’s lives anymore.

 

“Dean!” Someone waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his stupor. “Brother, what has gotten into you?”

 

“Shit,” Dean mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. He realized he had a beer in his hand and took a swig. “Sorry, Benny, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 

“I do!” Charlie proclaimed, waving around her drink like she was shocked to have gotten it. She probably wouldn’t have, if they weren’t in the only bar that didn’t care enough to card in Sioux Falls. “Dean’s mooning!”

 

Dean took another sip petulantly. “I most certainly am  _ not _ mooning, Charlie.”

 

“But you  _ a-r-e _ !” Charlie sing-songed.

 

“Who’s Dean moonin’ over, Charlie?” Benny said, scratching his scruffy chin with amusement. 

 

“It’s…” She paused for effect and Dean groaned, regretting ever promising to take her out for drinks with them. “ _ Castiel! _ ” she stage-whispered.

 

“Castiel?” Benny looked across the bar at the blue-eyed beauty who was being chatted-up by a blonde man in a low-cut gray shirt. 

 

“Mmmhmm,” Charlie confirmed, nodding with a secretive smile. “It’s ‘cause Dean’s in  _ lo-ve! _ ”

 

Benny raised an eyebrow. “Really? I think Dean’d have to actually be able to talk to him to be in love with ‘im.”

 

Dean let his head fall to the bar counter with a satisfying  _ thunk _ . “Please, both of you, shut up. I’m not in love with him.”

 

“You were though,” Charlie said with a frown. “And you two didn’t tell me for two years! Very rude.”

 

“Two?” Benny asked. He turned to Dean. “You dated?”

 

Dean peaked up at Benny, and he had the sudden urge to set his stupid cap on fire. “Kind of.”

 

“They were in love!” Charlie recalled dramatically. “Of course, they forgot to tell me until they weren’t anymore.”

 

“Charlie, I apologized for that-” Dean started.

 

“Hush, hush, I know. It’s fine.” Charlie went to take another sip from her suspiciously colored cocktail, but Benny stole it from her before she could. Charlie pouted for a moment before continuing. “But… Dean still loves him.”

 

“Do you, Dean?” Benny asked. 

 

“I need vodka,” Dean answered, still mashing his face into the table. He watched as Castiel took the blonde man by the hands and dragged him outside, giggling. Dean groaned, his heart bleeding in his chest. “A lot of vodka. Right now.”

 

Benny stirred Charlie’s drink with the tip of his finger thoughtfully. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Benny stuck his finger in his mouth and made a face. “This is strong! And… disgusting.”

 

Dean snatched the drink from Benny and gulped it down.

 

“Hey!” Charlie protested.

 

“What I feel doesn’t matter,” Dean said. “It doesn’t matter and it won’t ever matter so we should just all forget about it, okay?”

 

“I think it matters the most, Dean,” Benny offered.

 

“I think you’re both sappy shits! I mean, look at me! Gilda and I broke up, but uh… I’m still… I’m still kicking.” Charlie stilled, then burst into tears. “God, I’m so alone! Why’d she break up with me?”

 

Dean felt a pang of guilt. That’s why they were really here, because Charlie and her girlfriend, Gilda, broke up. Dean didn’t really understand why, but he knew it had something to do with their LARPing schedules —  _ Dean most certainly did not wish that Charlie would invite him to LARP with her sometime— _ conflicting. He felt like an asshole, talking about his issues and his, distinct lack of, love life in front of her, even if she had brought it up.

 

“Hey, Charlie, how about you come back to mine and I make you some gumbo?” Benny asked.

 

Charlie looked up at him, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed tears. “Really?”

 

“Mmhm,” Benny nodded. 

 

“Can we watch Disney movies?”

 

“Only if we can watch Mulan.”

 

Charlie squealed, sorrows forgotten. “Awesome!”

 

Benny turned to Dean. “Go get some rest, brother. She’ll be okay.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Positive.”

 

Dean thanked Benny and settled their tab, hugging his friends quickly before exiting the bar. As soon as he stepped outside, he took a deep breath, relishing the cool night air. He was feeling much more relaxed when he heard a soft moan. Confused, he turned to see where the noise was coming from, and saw two figures leaning against the side of the building, kissing hungrily. Dean squinted to see if he recognized them before he realized.

 

It was Castiel and the blonde man. The man had Castiel up against the wall, and Castiel had his hands twined around his neck as the man drew the soft, needy noises from him.

 

Dean’s hands clenched almost involuntarily and he opened his mouth to speak, but then forced himself to close it, trying to calm himself down.

 

Castiel wasn’t his anymore.

 

He had to remind himself of that. Castiel wasn’t his. They weren’t anything to each other anymore, in fact, because Dean had ruined that too. All because he was afraid. All because he was a coward.

 

Dean couldn’t even blame it on John anymore because Dean had stopped caring about what his father might have thought the night he realized how pure his feelings for Castiel were. At first, Dean was too scared. What if Castiel took it back, what if he was lying? Worse, what if it wasn’t a good thing that he loved Dean? By the time Dean felt comfortable with the idea, that even if he wasn’t deserving of love, maybe someday he  _ could  _ be, it was too late.

 

Dean walked to his car, but the image of Castiel kissing someone else was dancing behind his eyelids as he drove back to the dorms.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“He has a boyfriend,” Kevin Tran said, handing Dean a coffee mug.

 

Dean trained his expression into something both distressed and casual. “Who?”

 

“The love of your life,” Kevin deadpanned. 

 

“Unless pie, as an entity, has a boyfriend, then I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean said nonchalantly.

 

Kevin glared at him, his dark hair sticking out in ruffled peaks. “Jesus fuck, Winchester. Castiel. Castiel Novak has a boyfriend.”

 

“Oh,” Dean wrapped his hands tighter around his mug. “Hey, is your mom visiting during Christmas break? Because she kind of scares the shit out of me.”

 

Kevin sighed and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up more. “No, she isn’t visiting. And we need to have a discussion about this, okay? Your midnight cry-seshs mess with my midnight studying. And if I recognize they’re happening, that means I have to comfort you, and then I can’t have my midnight studying, and my grades slip to A-’s, and then my mom  _ does  _ visit during Christmas,” Kevin pointed at Dean with intention. “So, we are  _ going  _ to talk about this. After I get the bacon.” He spun on his heel and walked to their dorm’s tiny kitchenette, to flip the sizzling strips of bacon.

 

“I don’t cry in the middle of the night!” Dean lied. He did, but it wasn’t because of Castiel. It was because his nightmares had returned without Castiel at his side to quell them.

 

“Shut up, Winchester and drink your tea!” Kevin shouted, pointing at him with his spatula. Dean felt a pang in his chest at the gesture because it reminded him terribly of Bobby. He should really call home soon.

 

“I don’t hear you drinking your tea!” Kevin yelled.

 

“I don’t like tea!” Dean groused. “I like coffee!”

 

“Drink your damn tea!”

 

Dean frowned deeply and took a sip of the warm liquid. Sharing a dorm with Dean had really done a number on Kevin. He was much more stubborn and persistent now, but Dean liked it. He was much less uptight than the clean-cut mathematician Dean had first met and dreaded living with.

 

Plus, he made great tea. Not that Dean would ever tell him that.

 

Kevin turned off the stove and walked from the kitchen with a plate laden with bacon in his hand. He sat on the couch in front of Dean’s plush armchair and set the plate on the small coffee table between them. He picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite, eyeing Dean.

 

He swallowed before speaking. “Castiel’s boyfriend,” he said. “His name’s Balthazar.”

 

Dean ignored how his heart burned. “I want coffee.”

 

“Stop pouting and listen,” Kevin said. “You know that if I don’t tell you everything now, you’ll beg me to at two in the morning. And instead of telling you, I will set you on fire, and then the sprinklers will ruin my color-coordinated midterm notes.”

 

Dean set down his tea and filled his mouth with bacon so he wouldn’t say anything he’d regret.

 

“Balthazar’s in visual art. He’s artsy and shit, and well received. He’s got some pieces in a gallery on South Euclid. As your friend, I hate his work. As a human being, I want to tattoo it onto myself and everyone I meet.” Kevin stated.

 

Dean groaned incoherently. “How the fuck do you even know all this?”

 

“It just comes to me,” Kevin said, taking another bite of bacon. “It’s the word of God, Dean.”

 

“Word of God, my ass,” Dean mumbled.

 

“You do have an objectively god-like ass,” Kevin observed, expression neutral.

 

“Ew. Shut up,” Dean said. Kevin was quiet, continuing to eat his bacon. “Ugh… nevermind. Please continue.”

 

“He’s blonde, little bit of facial hair, always wear these weirdly low-cut gray shirts underneath a dark suit jacket-” Kevin was cut off by Dean.

 

“Shit! I saw them together!” Dean yelled. “God, I hate that guy. He’s pretentious.”

 

“Stop projecting,” Kevin said. “It’s unattractive.”

 

“You’re unattractive.” Dean wrinkled his nose.

 

“But I’m smarter than God, which makes up for it,” Kevin responded with ease.

 

Dean frowned deeply because he couldn’t even argue. “I hate you,” he said instead.

 

“No, you don’t,” Kevin said, not even missing a beat. “Balthazar is very gay and very popular, and he and Cas are a completely power-imbalanced power couple. But Cas is happy with Balthazar and Balthazar is happy with Cas, and Adam, and Garth, and-”

 

“Wait, he’s cheating on Cas?” Dean asked.

 

“Dean. He’s an  _ artist _ ,” Kevin deadpanned. “Of course he’s cheating on Cas.”

 

“That’s fucked up!” Dean shouted, starting to get up from his chair.

 

“Sit,” Kevin waved his hand, and Dean did. “It is fucked up, but apparently Cas either won’t believe anyone who tells him, or he doesn’t care.”

 

Dean buried his face in his hands. “Son of a bitch.”

 

“That’s an accurate view of the situation as a whole.” Kevin nodded, taking another bite of bacon. “Are you going to cry? Crying makes me very uncomfortable, and then I’ll have to make another pot of tea even though you hate tea.”

 

“I should do something,” Dean said. “Maybe he’d listen to me.”

 

The look Kevin gave him wasn’t just of pity, it was drowning in it. “Dean…”

 

“No, no, no, Kevin, I don’t want to hear it-” 

 

Kevin cut him off. “You haven’t spoken to him in two years…”

 

“Then I’ll get Sam or Gabe to talk to him!” Dean proclaimed.

 

“Dean…” Kevin sighed. “I know it’s not right, but he’s happy. Shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

 

Dean shook his head. “No, no, no-”

 

“Dean,” Kevin’s voice was gentle. “He’s moved on from you. Isn’t it time you move on too?”

 

Dean froze.

 

“There isn’t much you can do…” Kevin whispered, suddenly sounding very guilty about delivering this information to Dean.

 

Dean slammed his mug of tea onto the coffee table, the liquid sloshing angrily over the sides of the cup. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

 

Kevin didn’t try to stop him, but Dean felt his gaze, heavy and laden with sorrow, as he made his way to the bathroom.

 

As soon as Dean turned on the water, he stepped into the shower fully-clothed. It was an uncomfortable feeling, his clothes becoming sheer and sticking to his skin, but at least under the torrent he could pretend the helpless water leaking from his eyes was the shower and not his tears.

 


	7. Twenty-one

21

 

Dean slammed the door of his dorm open, reeling drunkenly. “Guess who’s drunk?”

 

Kevin looked up from the mass of papers on his desk with mild disinterest. “I guess Dean.”

 

“You guessed right, bitch!” Dean exclaimed, flopping face first onto his bed. 

 

Kevin pushed back from his desk to close the door behind Dean. “Kindly refrain from referring to me as ‘bitch’. It’s derogatory.”

 

Dean paid Kevin no mind as he rubbed his face into the soft fabric of his duvet. “It’s soft like a fluffy… cloud.”

 

“Sure, buddy,” Kevin said, returning to his desk.

 

“So!” Dean swiveled onto his side, thrusting an arm up into the air flamboyantly. “Did I tell you?”

 

“Tell me what?” Kevin asked, not looking up from his school work.

 

“That I’m…” Dean paused for effect, then struck a dramatic pose. “In  _ love _ ?”

 

“Only every single time you look in the mirror,” Kevin muttered, false venom in his tone. He swiveled in his chair to face Dean, a very unamused expression on his face. “Who is it this time, Dean?”

 

“ _ Cas-ti-el! _ ” Dean sing-songed.

 

“Shit, Dean, this again?” Kevin sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “It’s been years!”

 

“He’s got the prettiest eyes, Kev, like fucking… pools of blue. I drown in them…” Dean sighed whimsically. “He was at the party today, with Balth-fart-zar-”

 

“They’re together again?” Kevin shook his head. “Jesus…”

 

“And he was wearing the trench coat, the one he wore when we first met. Can’t believe the damn thing still fits him, he’s had it since we were nine…”

 

“Let me guess,” Kevin said. “Seeing him in the jacket made you feel things, so you left your girlfriend by the beers and cried in the closet for twenty minutes before emerging and drinking yourself silly?”

 

Dean felt like he should protest, but Kevin had gotten the entire situation down to a T. “‘retty much,” he slurred.

 

“You should break up with Lisa,” Kevin said. “Poor girl. I mean, she knows you aren’t super serious, but if you’re still in love with-”

 

“Castiel!” Dean cut Kevin off with the whine. “God, I love that little shit. I miss ‘im. I miss him so much and I just wanna kiss it all better-”

 

Kevin held out a hand. “Please stop. Just…” He fumbled around his desk for a moment before emerging triumphant with a pen and a piece of paper. “Just… write down what you feel so I can study. Write him a letter. Profess your undying love and all that shit. We’ll burn it tomorrow, and you’ll feel marginally better.”

 

“Mmmmm…” Dean considered. “Okay!” He jumped off the bed and rushed to the pen and paper, staggering slightly, before plopping down on the floor and uncapping his pen. “Dear… Cas…” he started.

 

“Don’t fucking read it out loud! Just write the damn thing so I can study. And be quiet, or I’ll kick you out and you’ll have to beg Charlie and Dorothy to let you stay with them,” Kevin groused.

 

“Oh!” Dean started. “Was I talking out loud?”

 

“Just write, you drunkard.”

 

Dean wrote.

 

_ Dear Cas, _

 

_ How’ve you been? It’s been four years since I’ve said a word to you, and every day I want to die because of it. I miss you a fuck ton, which sucks because you’re always right there with your glittery eyes and perfect hair, like a R-rated Disney princess. You’re in arms reach, but you’re so far away it hurts. _

 

_ And I think about that night at Bela’s when everything went wrong, and how you ran out crying after you said “I love you”, and how it really fucking sucks that that was how it happened because it means our first time saying “I love you” was full of icky feelings and I don’t like that. _

 

_ Because you’re right. I am a coward. Did you know Charlie found me after that rocking back and forth like a psychopath, screaming at my dad to go away and whispering “I love you” after you? Bet you a milkshake at the Roadhouse that she never told you that. _

 

_ I mean, I never told you that I love you either, but I do. I still do. And I have since we were nine years old and you came over to my house dressed as a holy tax accountant, and I want to cry whenever I see you wearing the trench coat because you don’t wear it with me anymore. _

 

_ I’m mad at you too though, because you never tried to talk to me after it happened. I know I kissed your sister. I regret it, she regrets it, the whole world weeps because of it. But you never tried to talk to me about it. It was your job, you dumbass! I fuck something up, and then you help me fix it. That’s how it’s always been, that’s how it was supposed to be! But you didn’t try to help me fix it, so it’s still there, broken like me. _

 

_ I know you don’t love me anymore, and that’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy, even if it is with that asshat Balthazar. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you. You were my first friend, Cas. My first love. And I know that if you called for me, even in a hundred years, I’d drop everything and run to you.  _

 

_ Anyway, none of this even matters because Kevin’s burning this in the morning.  _

 

_ Love always (even when I try not to), _

 

_ Dean _

 

“Have you finished your drunken love note?” Kevin asked.

 

“Not that drunk,” Dean pointed out. “And yes.”

 

Kevin held out an envelope for him. “Seal it up. For closure.”

 

“What?” Dean made a face.

 

“Address the damn thing, Dean. We’ll burn it with the bacon in the morning.” Kevin said.

 

Dean took the envelope and stuffed his letter inside. His tongue was poised to seal the letter when he looked up at Kevin. “Please don’t burn the baby bacons.”

 

Kevin waved his hand flippantly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

Dean sealed the letter and wrote the address, then tossed it on the floor and clambered into bed. “Good night, Kevin!”

 

“Sweet dreams, jackass,” Kevin muttered, aggressively working his pencil over his paper.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Shit, Dean, did you turn my alarm off? We’re late!” Kevin shouted, frantically running about the room gathering papers.

 

“Bacon!” Dean trilled.

 

“No bacon, classes!” Kevin screamed. 

 

“No!” Dean smushed his face into his pillow petulantly. 

 

Kevin cursed incoherently, pulling on his shoes. “I’ll tell Mr. Crowley you’re sick.”

 

“He’ll know I’m just hungover…” Dean muttered into his pillow.

 

“I’ll tell Mr. Crowley you’re hungover,” Kevin revised.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean turned on his side. “Will you make me bacon later?”

 

“Go to sleep, Dean!” Kevin shouted as he left the room, locking the door behind him.

 

“Mmmm… bacon…” Dean smiled and fell back asleep.

 

The love letter lay forgotten, peaking innocently out from underneath Dean’s bed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Dean!” 

 

Dean let out an  _ “oomph!” _ as he was wrapped into a bear hug by a much taller human.

 

“See, I did not say that you could get taller than me!” Dean pulled back a little, feeling uncomfortable about having to look up to see Sam’s smile. “God, Sammy, this is ridiculous. You’re like a damn moose!”

 

Sam shook out his luxurious brown hair and hugged Dean tighter. “I missed you so much!”

 

Dean patted Sam’s back. “Yeah, I’d miss me too.”

 

Sam let out an undignified snort and released Dean from his embrace. “So, how are you? How’s college?” he asked. Dean spent a moment trying to stop staring at his little brother’s shampoo-commercial-esc hair.

 

“I’m fine,” Dean shrugged, looking out at the green campus, the people milling about. “College is fine.”

 

“I can see that college has managed to make you well-spoken. What an accomplishment!”

 

Dean made a face. “Bitch.”

 

“Jerk!” Sam responded, his grin growing wider. “God, I’ve missed you, Dean.”

 

“I missed you too, Sammy,” Dean said.

 

“Okay, okay, enough of this. Show me your dorm!” Sam commanded. “I want to know if dorms look like the ones in movies.”

 

“Kevin’s there studying though. You’ll have to be quiet,” Dean informed him.

 

“I can manage,” Sam shrugged, following Dean as he made his way to the dorms. “Does he ever  _ not _ study?”

 

“He makes bacon,” Dean said. “And tea. Sometimes he throws tantrums about my dirty socks. Not really much else.”

 

Sam laughed. 

 

They walked across the green to the dorms, which loomed like a sleeping giant. Dean liked the grass, it made him feel calm. Sometimes he napped under the trees, because it reminded him of the baseball field he used to play at. He’d card his hand through the dandelions and feel the dappled sunlight on his face, and he could pretend that he’d see Cas later, and they’d hang out at Dean’s house. Maybe Cas would make him pie.

 

He still thought about Castiel, but it was more a daydream than anything else. Not a word in four years, but Dean’s heart still hurt whenever he looked at him. 

 

“How’s Cas?” Sam asked, hesitantly. Dean wondered why he asked, considering Sam still talked to Castiel. They were still friends. Dean wished he and Castiel were still friends.

 

“He’s fine. He’s got a boyfriend, Balthazar,” Dean said.

 

“Balthazar?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah,” Dean frowned, adopting a posh accent. “He’s British.”

 

“Really?”

 

“And an asshole,” Dean added.

 

“I think you’re a little biased, Dean,” Sam said.

 

Dean frowned, but nodded a little reluctantly. “A little.”

 

“I can’t believe you still haven’t talked to him, Dean,” Sam said. “Your continued pining is even more ridiculous than when you were younger. At least you were friends back then.”

 

Dean winced. “Please, stop. I’m not in the mood to get into that.”

 

Sam gave him an exasperated bitchface. “Fine, whatever.”

 

“What’s new with you, Sam? You’re almost eighteen now, about to head off to college.” Dean grinned proudly. “To motherfucking  _ Harvard _ no less!”

 

Sam looked a little miffed at the sudden conversation change, but he couldn’t contain his excitement at the mention of his future and squealed. “Gah! I’m so excited, Dean! It’s been… absolutely insane.”

 

“I’m so proud of you, Sammy,” Dean grinned.

 

“Oh, and Dean, I uh…” Sam rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I may have asked Gabriel on a date.”

 

If Dean had had water in his mouth, he would have spit it out. “Seriously?”

 

Sam nodded proudly, as if he was hoping for a reaction that strong.

 

“What did he say?” Dean asked.

 

“He said maybe,” Sam said.

 

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, fixing Sam with a look. “What the fuck does that mean?”

 

Sam laughed. “It means he’s gonna take me on a date on my birthday so I’m legal.”

 

Dean barked out a laugh. “Well, congrats Sammy, that’s truly awesome.” Dean smiled at his giant of a brother.

 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said. “Hey, is this you?”

 

They were stopped in front of dorms, which were bulky and dusky, but roaring with life. Lights were flashing in the windows, a red solo cup fell out of one like a bleeding bird and crashed onto the ground with a sickening thud, sending amber liquid high up into the air. The scent of alcohol was thick in the air, and a beat was thrumming from an unknown location, syncopating with the rhythm of their heartbeats. It was raw and untamed, fiery and fierce, all contained in the chunk of concrete and wood.

 

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. “Yep.”

 

Sam tilted his head to this side. “It’s a little depressing, isn’t it?”

 

Dean grinned. “Wait until you see inside!”

 

Inside was, in fact, worse, full of flickering lights and university students in various stages of emotional distress or drunkenness. Dean led a fascinated, yet disturbed, Sam down the winding halls to the room he shared with Kevin.

 

“Is college going to be this frightening for me?” Sam asked, eyeing a girl balancing six textbooks and seven Red Bulls, twitching slightly.

 

“Sam, you’re going to Harvard,” Dean reminded him. “It’s going to be worse.”

 

If this information troubled Sam, he didn’t let it show. He only nodded with the casual disinterest of a scientist, observing and making notes on a less-than-opportune situation.

 

Dean arrived at the door to his room, unlocked it, and faced Sam. “Here it is, home, sweet home!” He opened the door with a flourish.

 

“Jesus, Dean, it’s filthy!” Sam cried in horror.

 

Dean peaked into the opening and shrugged at the sight of the truly dirty room. “I didn’t say ‘home, clean home’.”

 

Sam walked into the room and pinched an unidentifiable item of clothing between his thumb and forefinger. “What is this?”

 

“It was a sweater,” a voice mused. “Once.”

 

“I’m ashamed of you, Kevin,” Sam said, addressing the dark haired boy who sat slouched over his studies. “I thought you’d have the decency to keep this room semi-clean.”

 

Kevin gestured to the pile of papers on his desk. “Too busy studying to worry about all of that, my friend. Much to learn and crap.”

 

Sam surveyed the room with a frown, categorizing the disastrous state it was in. “This is horrible. I must take matters into my own hands.” Sam sniffed the room and wrinkled his nose. “Into my own gloves,” he rephrased. “Do you have gloves?”

 

“We have oven mitts in the kitchen,” Dean informed him helpfully.

 

“That’ll do,” Sam said, rushing to get the mitts.

 

Dean sat on his bed, pulled an opened bag of chips from his bedside table and munched away happily. He would offer to help, but he knew if he did he would just be getting in Sam’s way.

 

“Dean!” Sam called from the kitchen. “When was the last time you washed these dishes?”

 

Dean considered. “Hey, Kevin, when’s the last time you made tea and bacon?”

 

“Last month,” Kevin answered, furiously scribbling away.

 

Dean winced. “Probably best not to tell him that.” Dean attempted to make his voice sound less incriminating. “Uh… I don’t know? Yesterday?”

 

“Get you ass in here and wash these!” Sam yelled. 

 

“Wait, what?” Dean pouted. “But I’m eating chips!”

 

“Dean, I swear to god, wash these dishes or I’ll put every pair of dirty socks I find under your pillow!”

 

Dean jolted up. “I’m coming, I’m coming, Jesus!” Dean dragged himself to the kitchen, making his grumpiest face at Sam before rolling up his sleeves and going to work. It was a nice routine: rinse, soap, rinse, dry, over and over again into oblivion. The calming lull overtook Dean, and for a few precious moments all Dean heard was the spray of water, the shuffling of Kevin’s notes, and the noises of Sam bustling about cleaning.

 

Before Sam ruined the peace. “Dean, what do you want me to do with all these letters?”

 

“Oh, the bills?” Dean squirted some more soap on his sponge. “Mail ‘em.”

 

“There’s one under your bed!” Sam informed him.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and scrubbed at a crust of some sort of red sauce. Dean didn’t remember anything he had eaten recently that had red sauce. “Newsflash, Sammy: things fall.”

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2h5mq1l)  


 

“Can I open it?” Sam asked. 

 

“If taxes are that interesting to you, then sure!” 

 

Sam must have taken that as a yes, because Dean overheard the splitting of paper and the unfolding of a letter.

 

“Is it interesting, Sammy?” Dean joked.

 

“Riveting,” Sam replied, and it sounded like he truly thought that. “You really want me to send all of these?”

 

“Yes, Sam,” Dean turned off the tap and start to towel off a bowl.

 

“Really?” Sam asked.

 

“Did I stutter, Sammy?”

 

Dean could just  _ feel _ his shrug from the other room. “Okay then…” Sam said.

 

Dean continued to wash his dishes. 

 

“Hey Dean?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Do you really organize your skin mags alphabetically?”

 

Dean dropped the spoon he was currently washing. “Don’t touch those!”

  
  
  
  
  


A week later, everything went to shit.

 

Dean was sitting on his bed, trying to study for a test, when someone started to knock incessantly on the door.

 

Dean set down his textbook and looked over at Kevin. “Are you expecting someone?”

 

Kevin snorted. “Dean, my social life is as realistic as your love life.”

 

Dean made a face. “Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, making his way to the door. 

 

When he swung it open, he was surprised to find a very familiar, very unexpected, and very pissed off face.

 

Dean’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Cas?”

 

Kevin turned in shock to see the other boy standing in the doorway, fuming. “Castiel Novak?”

 

“Dean,” Castiel said, gritting his teeth.

 

Kevin stumbled out of his chair, looking panicked. “I think I should be going now, uh… Charlie’s expecting me…” His voice trailed off unconvincingly, but he managed to grab his shoes and coat and run out the door, in his pajamas.

 

“Um…” Dean rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, confused as to what to do. “Come in, I guess.” He stumbled aside to allow Castiel to come into the room, and shut the door behind him. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

 

Castiel gritted his teeth once more and spoke in an eerily calm voice. “What the fuck, Dean?”

 

Dean balked. “Excuse me?”

 

Castiel’s voice rose, gaining momentum as he spoke. “I said, what. The. Fuck. You don’t talk to me for four years, and you send that to me? If this is your idea of a joke, I’ll have you know that it’s  _ not funny _ !”

 

“What?” 

 

“You are such a dick, Dean! Just leave me alone!”

 

“What are you talking about, Cas?” Dean asked, confused.

 

“ _ What are you talking about? What are you talking about? _ ” Castiel repeated, angrily amused. He pulled something from his pocket and slammed it on the coffee table. “I’m talking about this  _ fucking letter _ , you… you… you assbutt!”

 

Dean looked at the offending object and paled considerably. “Shit.”

 

Castiel threw his hands up in exasperation. “Yeah!”

 

“No, Cas, you don’t understand, Sam must have… he must have mailed it on accident.”

 

“What?”

 

“Cas, you gotta believe me, I never meant for you to see that, I thought Kevin burned that thing-”

 

Castiel shook his head. “Wait, what do you mean, Dean?”

 

“That… god, you weren’t supposed to read that. Ever.” Dean said, starting to shake. He felt like the world was crumbling around him.

 

“Wait, this is… this is true? All of it?” Castiel asked, his voice deadly quiet.

 

Dean froze. He couldn’t lie, not now. Not that he would have, he had nothing to lose but the truth. His voice was hushed when he answered. “Yes.”

 

“You’re…” Castiel swallowed. “You’re in love with me?”

 

Dean shifted, rubbing the palms of his hands together uncomfortably. “Y-yes.”

 

A tear slid down Castiel’s cheek, and that seemed to break a dam because tears started spilling from his eyes in helpless rivets. “Since we were nine years old?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I-” Castiel shook his head. “I-I don’t know what to say-”

 

“Don’t,” Dean said, holding out his hands. “Please. You don’t have to say anything, Cas.”

 

“But-” Castiel protested, but Dean cut him off.

 

“Just, please,” Dean looked at Castiel, directly into his eyes for the first time in four years and asked, “Could we... start over? Try to be friends again?”

 

Dean watched Castiel’s face carefully as a smile began to bloom over his features. “I’d really like that, Dean.”

 

“I’d like that too, Cas,” Dean said.

 

Dean let Castiel envelope him in a hug, and as he wrapped his arms around Castiel’s smaller frame, he felt warmer than he had in years. “I’ve missed this,” Dean admitted.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Castiel confessed softly. 

 

Dean wanted to bottle that moment, repeat it forever like a broken record, but it only lasted for as long as he was in Castiel’s embrace. 

 

But that was okay. He was beginning to think he was going to be an expert on replaying old memories.

  
  
  
  
  


“Hey, Cas,” Dean grinned as Castiel’s front door was opened.

 

“Dean!” Castiel immediately wrapped him in a hug. “You came!”

 

Dean patted Castiel’s back once, ignoring the quickening of his heartbeat. “Were you expecting me not to?”

 

Castiel pulled back and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose while Dean fought back a shiver at the sight.  _ Fucking beautiful Castiel in his fucking sexy-ass glasses. _ “Balthazar couldn’t come because he’s taking down his gallery pieces today,” Castiel said.

 

_ Thank god for that. _ “Bummer.” Dean tried to tailor his features into something that resembled disappointment. 

 

“But now we can make apple pie instead of chocolate cake!” Castiel cheered, letting Dean into his dorm room.

 

Dean wrinkled his nose and entered. “Cake?”

 

“Balthazar doesn’t really like pie, especially apple pie,” Castiel explained. “Good thing we do, though!’”

 

“How can anyone not like pie?” Dean asked.

 

“Well, he likes pie,” Castiel said. “Just not my pie.”

 

Dean felt the hate inside of him charge. “How can anyone not like your pie?”

 

“Well, for one,” came a smooth, sultry voice. “They could be allergic to apples.”

 

Dean turned to see a svelte brunette slink over to him.

 

“Oh, Dean, this is my roommate, Meg,” Castiel said.

 

“Pleasure,” Meg intoned. She did not sound like she thought it actually was, or perhaps that was just her way of speaking. “Clarence, do we have any-”

 

“Fries are in the fridge, Meg!” Castiel chirped.

 

Dean made a face. “Clarence?”

 

“That’s what she calls me,” Castiel explained.

 

Meg went into the kitchen and returned with a carton, then plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV to a rerun of Freaks and Geeks.

 

Castiel yawned, reaching his hands above his head to stretch, and the hem of his t-shirt rose. Dean tried to avert his gaze from the creamy strip of hipbone that was exposed, but something caught his eye. He thought he saw a bruise, in the shape of fingerprints that disappeared into his pants. Dean tried to look closer, but the moment was so quick that Dean wasn’t sure if what he had seen was correct, or if it was just a trick of the light.

 

Castiel clapped his hands. “I’ll gather ingredients and you two can chat!” He skipped to the kitchen, and Dean was left racking his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever seen Castiel this cheery.

 

Dean approached Meg like she was a snake flashing her warning colors, very cautiously. He perched on the edge of an arm chair, his mouth working over the words he wanted to say, the television blaring. Deciding against speaking, he looked over his shoulder to see if he could spot Castiel in the kitchen. Dean could hear him, humming along to the theme song. He tore his gaze from the kitchen to find Meg eyeing him.

 

“Are you going to tell him?” Meg asked, biting into a fry. “That you’re in love with him?”

 

Dean tried to feel surprised, but he knew how obvious he was. “He knows.”

 

“Really?” Meg hummed. “And you’re Dean? Dean Winchester?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Why?”

 

Meg only grunted, turning back to the TV. If she had a team, it was obvious that she was on Castiel’s.

 

Dean shifted on the chair, trying to watch the show. A group of grubby-looking teenagers were playing a song very badly. He sighed and spoke again. “Does Cas love him?”

 

“Who?” Meg asked, eyes still on the show.

 

“Balthazar.”

 

Meg barked out a laugh. “Can anyone truly love the British?”

 

Dean made a face. “What?”

 

Meg pointed at him with her fry. “Why don’t you ask him, pretty boy?”

 

“What?”

 

“Dean!” Castiel called from the kitchen. “Can you cut these apples?”

 

Dean glanced at Meg who was waggling her eyebrows and eating her fries suggestively. He stuck his tongue out at her before fleeing to the kitchen to avoid her possible wrath.

 

“Meg scares me,” Dean said.

 

Castiel laughed. “She can be scary, but she’s really sweet once you get to know her.” Castiel pointed to a pile of apples next to a cutting board, and handed Dean a knife. “Could you slice them up super thin?”

 

Dean nodded and went to the sink to wash his hands. “You never used to let me help you with the pies before.”

 

“That’s because you always messed them up!” Castiel laughed. “But it’s been a while, so I have faith that your skills have progressed.”

 

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked as he shook out his hands to dry them. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

 

“Too long,” Castiel said, eyes trained on the sugar he was measuring.

 

“Too long,” Dean agreed wistfully.

 

Castiel cleared his throat loudly and poured the sugar into a bowl. He was starting to sift the flour when Dean asked, “Cas?”

 

“Yeah?” Castiel asked, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration.

 

“Do you love him? Balthazar?” 

 

Dean watched as Castiel tensed in shock and the sift clattered onto the counter, throwing flour into the air with a puff. Castiel whirled around, eyes wide. “What?”

 

Dean snickered at the sight, Castiel with his saucer-wide eyes and hair dusted in white. He looked like an angel. 

 

“Wait, you have some flour in your…” Dean gestured to Castiel’s locks. “May I?” 

 

“Oh,” Castiel blushed and nodded, and Dean stepped forward, carefully running a hand through the strands of Castiel’s ebony hair, dispersing the powder.

 

He pinched a lock between his forefinger and thumb and tugged playfully. Castiel smacked his hand away with a giggle. Dean felt his features melt into an easy smile, and he forced himself to step back.  _ Not mine, not mine,  _ he reminded himself.

 

“Do you love him?” Dean asked again, voice quieter this time.

 

Castiel stepped back, worrying the hem of his apron with his fingertips. “I’m not sure if that matters, Dean.”

 

“I think it’s the only thing that matters,” Dean whispered, eyes averted.

 

“I know you do,” Castiel said. He sighed deeply. “I don’t know, Dean. I haven’t been in love in a very long time.” The statement was heavy with meaning, and Dean felt the pang in his heart. “What I have with Balthazar… it’s easy. I don’t have to worry about his feelings for me, because I know what they are.”

 

“And what are they?” Dean asked.

 

Castiel turned so Dean couldn’t see his face. “Let’s talk about something else.”

 

Dean began to cut up an apple in thin slices, trying to think of something to say.

 

“Are you dating anyone, Dean?” Castiel asked, voice hesitant.

 

“Um… not currently. Me and Lisa Braeden dated for a bit, but that didn’t work out.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Oh…” Dean swallowed. “Well. We both had other people in mind, I guess.”

 

Castiel stilled. “Dean-” he started, but Dean cut him off.

 

“I’m not expecting anything from you, Cas, okay? But this… this is nice. I missed this.”

Castiel nodded, eyes cast downwards. “I missed you, Dean.” 

 

The way he said it was soaked in a complicated emotion that Dean didn’t have enough courage to unravel. He nodded tersely, once, and went back to chopping apples.

 

Facing away from Castiel, he tested the words on his tongue, saying them without sound. 

 

_ I love you. _

 

_ I love you. _

 

_ I love you. _

 

Once for a confession, twice for truth. 

 

Three times for luck.

 

Dean kept the fourth one in his pocket, in waiting.

 

_ I love you. _

 

Four times for freedom.

 

_ Your love gives me wings… _

  
  
  
  
  


Dean was sleeping when Castiel came knocking.

 

“Dean!” came the choked call. “Oh, god, please be here… Dean!”

 

Dean rubbed at his eyes, sitting up in bed. It was the first time in months that Kevin had actually left their room, so Dean had taken the opportunity to go to sleep early without the distraction of Kevin’s cursing and rapid-fire question recitations.

 

He walked to the door, rubbing at his stomach through his Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He opened the door, still drowsy, but snapped to attention when he saw Castiel’s huddled form, curled in on himself, sobbing.

 

“Castiel? What’s going on?” Dean asked, conveying his concern through his tone. “What happened?”

 

“Dean!” Castiel, surged forward, sagging into Dean’s arms. “Oh, god.”

 

Dean shut the door and wrapped his arms around Castiel, half-dragging him toward the closest seating area, which happened to be Dean’s bed. He rubbed his hand in a soothing circle on Castiel’s back, trying to calm him down. Castiel’s hands were fisted tightly in Dean’s shirt, his hot tears dampening the fabric by Dean’s collarbone. Once Castiel’s tears had lessened, Dean tried again. “What’s wrong, Cas?”

 

“Balthazar,” Castiel choked out. “That  _ asshole _ .”

 

Dean felt himself grit his teeth despite his best intention. “What happened?”

 

“He left!” Castiel managed to get out, fat droplets of water rolling down his cheeks. “Got an offer to present at a gallery in Paris and left this afternoon, without telling me!”

 

“What?” Dean asked. 

 

“He texted me  _ two hours ago _ saying that he was breaking up with me because he was moving to Paris! He didn’t even tell me he was going!”

 

“What  _ the fuck _ ?” Dean spat out, wrapping his arms tighter around Castiel, as if trying to shield him from the world.

 

“Dean… why does everybody  _ leave  _ me?” Castiel sniffed.

 

Dean didn’t think they were talking about Balthazar anymore. “Cas, I… I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel tucked his chin down, shaking his head. 

 

“Every day, since I was seventeen years old, I’ve woken up and regretted leaving you, letting you go.” Dean whispered ashamedly. 

 

“Shut up,” Castiel muttered. “You’re not allowed to do that.”

 

“I love you,” Dean whispered. “I do. I don’t think I’ll ever not love you.”

 

“Stop it,” Castiel said, voice rising. “Stop it, stop!”

 

Dean let go of Castiel, scared he might have done something wrong again.

 

Dean watched, heart constricting in shock, as Castiel broke down into tears again. “You’re not allowed… not allowed to do that, Dean! Waltz in and expect everything to go back to the way things were! I… god, Dean, I’ve been trying so hard. To forget you, to move on. You’re such… you’re such an asshole, Dean!” Castiel pushed his hand into Dean’s chest then, rhythmically trying to half-heartedly separate them. “Stupid, stupid, dumb, beautiful boy,” he muttered, looking up into Dean’s sad eyes, which seemed to glow green in the dark. “Stupid pretty eyes and stupid, stupid, stupid pretty heart.”

 

Dean was quiet. He let Castiel lean forward, tugging Dean closer. He let Castiel press his tender lips against his own. He kissed back, softly and slowly, dreading what would inevitably happen. As soon as Castiel opened his mouth and Dean felt the warm, soft pressure of Castiel’s tongue on his own, Dean tasted his tears and pulled back. 

 

“Cas, I can’t,” Dean said, head ducked. “Not like this, not right now, not when you’re in this state.”

 

Castiel growled, eyes shifting from the blue of sorrow to the one of rage. “Why not? This is what you want, right?”

 

Dean nodded. “God, yes, Cas. You have no idea. But I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

 

“What?” Castiel asked.

 

Dean reached forward and wiped a tear off of Castiel’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, holding it up for his to inspect. “Castiel, you’re in tears about someone else. And I love you, and I want this so much. But I can’t… I can’t do this.”

 

Castiel stared at Dean, blue eyes owlish with something akin to wonder. “I hated you,” he said. “For a very long time.”

 

“I hated me too,” Dean said, ducking his head.

 

“You never tried, after that night.”

 

“I didn’t think I was good enough for your love,” Dean explained. “I still don’t think I am.”

 

“You don’t get to decide that.” Castiel gripped Dean’s shirt tighter in his hands. “People love you because you’re  _ good _ , Dean. You’re  _ righteous.  _ And lovely. You deserve love, Dean.”

 

“Maybe,” Dean conceded. “But not yours, never yours. If I’m the righteous man, you’re a goddamn angel, Cas.”

 

Castiel leaned forward and kissed Dean on the cheek. “You’re still stupid.”

 

“A little,” Dean admitted.

 

“Do you still get nightmares?” Castiel asked.

 

“Yes,” Dean said without hesitation.

 

Castiel kicked off his shoes and socks without a word, then slithered out of his jeans, so he was only in a t-shirt and navy boxers. He climbed into Dean’s bed and gestured for Dean to follow him. Dean did, cautiously though, with something peculiar boiling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Castiel flung an arm around Dean’s waist and rested his cheek between Dean’s shoulder blades. 

 

“This is nice,” Dean murmured, feeling Castiel nod against his back. “Hey, if you want to pretend that the kiss never happened, I won’t be offended,” he stated, trying to get that potential awkwardness out of the way. Dean knew that he, for one, would not be forgetting that for a very long time.

 

Castiel blew a raspberry petulantly. “Ugh, Dean. Forget it if you must.”

 

_ What did that mean? _ Castiel did not seem intent on elaborating, so Dean tried to go back to sleep. It was a little hard to though, considering he was sharing a pillow with the love of his life. 

 

He didn’t really have much left to lose, so he asked. “Do you love him, Cas?”

 

He wasn’t talking about Balthazar, and they both knew it.

 

Castiel was quiet for so long that Dean feared that he either felt so uncomfortable he hadn’t answered, or he had fallen asleep. He was about to forget about it when Castiel answered.

 

“I’m learning to again…” His voice trailed off, falling under the threshold of sleep.

 

Dean slept more soundly than he had in years, his heart humming in his chest.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=122dxqa)  



	8. Twenty-three

23

They hadn’t kissed since then.

 

Despite everything, they hadn’t kissed since that time in the cover of night, drunk on a failed relationship and the promise of love.

 

Their precarious friendship was so different from the first time, and yet so hilariously similar to when they were younger. Dean tiptoed around Castiel, not wanting to infringe on any boundaries he might have. And Castiel… he was significantly less cautious than Dean, which Dean was fine with.

 

Castiel practically lived in Dean and Kevin’s room; they kept rooming together in grad school and Castiel was there so often that Kevin said he would switch rooms with him. 

 

But then he met Meg.

 

And spent four hours rocking back and forth in horror.

 

“I guess she isn’t for everyone!” Castiel said, laughing uncomfortably.

 

Kevin stopped offering to move after that.

 

Castiel spent the night often, and while they never fell asleep cuddling, Dean always managed to wind up in Castiel’s arms.

 

Not that he minded.

 

They watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer in Dean’s bed, and Castiel would sit in front of him, identifying the origins of all of the vampires using his fancy linguistics major skills while Dean threw popcorn at him. Dean could never seem to remove his fond smile when he stared at the familiar curvature of Castiel’s back, the slope of his shoulders, the lines of his neck as Castiel gushed on about inflections of tone.

 

He cherished every second they spent together, making up for all the time they had lost. What he cherished the most was the fact that he didn’t have to hide his feelings anymore, not from himself or anyone else, not even from Castiel. Because Castiel knew that Dean was in love with him, and that changed everything.

 

If love had given Dean Winchester wings, having the person he loved know it was like finally, finally letting him fly. He was unabashed in his affections for Castiel, almost to the point of being obnoxious. 

 

Sometimes he’d whisper it to himself, just to be able to say the words. “I’m in love with Castiel Novak.”

 

Kevin started to loathe the phrase so much that he started a ‘love’ jar, in which Dean was required to place a quarter every time he reminded Kevin of how much he loved Castiel.

 

“Dean, I get it. You’re in love. God, this is even worse than when you didn’t talk to him!” Kevin muttered.

 

Dean pulled out his wallet and emptied a pile of quarters into his palm. “Hey, hey, Kevin?”

 

“Fuck off, Dean,” Kevin groaned.

 

“Have I told you I’m in love?” He grinned, dropping a quarter into the jar with a satisfying clink. “I’m in love,” another clink. “I’m in love with Castiel Novak.”

 

“Does he love you back?” Kevin mimicked Dean’s lovestruck tone.

 

“He will again,” Dean nodded solemnly. “He’ll love me tomorrow.”

 

He said that every morning, dropping a quarter in the jar each time. Soon enough, Kevin bought another jar. But Dean held out hope. Soon. Soon, Castiel would tell him he loved him again. Soon.

 

He just needed to have patience.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2u8ulc7)  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Dean,” Castiel stood over Dean’s sleeping form, poking his shoulder. “Dean?”

 

“Mmm, yeah?” Dean rubbed his warm palm over his face, drawing himself out of his sleep. “What’s… what’s up?” Dean yawned, sitting up in bed. “What time is it?”

 

“Seven twenty two in the morning,” Castiel answered briskly, sitting down next to Dean. “I needed to tell you that I don’t think I’ll be able to make our movie night tonight.”

 

Dean frowned, the comforter sliding down his toned chest to pool in his lap. “Why?”

 

“Oh, um…” Castiel swallowed and blushed as his gaze flickered to Dean’s chest. “Don’t get mad.”

 

Dean was wide awake now. “Why would I get mad?”

 

“Balthazar’s back in town,” Castiel tripped over his words, as if trying to get them out as quickly as possible so as not to upset Dean. “He wants to have dinner with me.”

 

“What? Where?” Dean tried to conceal his outrage, but he felt like a pot boiling over.

 

“7 o’clock, at the cafe across from his new gallery.” Castiel said.

 

“And you’re going?” Dean spit.

 

“Dean-” Castiel started, tone placating, but Dean cut him off.

 

“You’re actually going! Why?” Dean asked. “Do I need to remind you that he cheated on you multiple times? That he left you without a word?”

 

Castiel winced. “Dean, it’s not like that!” 

 

“Then what is it like?” Dean asked, knowing he was being confrontational but not caring.

 

“I need to know I can!” Castiel’s voice was loud and bright with repressed emotion. “I need to know that I can go up to that asshole and hold a civilized conversation, and then look him in the eye and say, ‘I don’t need you, anymore. You can’t control me, any of me, anymore.’”

 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

 

Castiel reigned himself in with a sigh. “It… it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that it is over.” Castiel looked at Dean then, eyes pleading and pale blue. “Please let me do this. I need to make him know that he doesn’t get to have me anymore.”

 

Dean swallowed, unsure what to do with all of this raw emotion. Love, he had learned to deal with. This he didn’t even know how to begin deciphering. 

 

Dean nodded, only because he didn’t know what else to do. “Okay,” he whispered, because he didn’t know what else to say.

 

“Thank you.” Castiel was uncharacteristically solemn.

 

“I’ll be there for you though,” Dean said. “If you need me.”

 

Castiel’s smile was a little sad, but a lot hopeful. “I’ll always need you, Dean.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips onto Dean’s cheek carefully. The tender brush sent Dean’s nerves skittering as Castiel left the room. Dean pressed his fingertips where Castiel’s lips had been, trying to memorize the sensation.

 

“I love you,” Dean said, but Castiel was already out the door, going to confront his own demons. “I love you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s a lot that can break a person.

 

Stick and stones, words and wounds. 

 

A father’s shout and scars from memories and new knives. 

 

Quieter things, too.

 

Incessant whisperings in one’s head. Wishing they were different, wishing they were dead. Phantom lips on their own, on other places. Bitter tears and bitter memories.

 

For other people, bruises. 

 

Dean knew that Castiel knew how a bruise bloomed. The colors it changed, like a sunset or a flower unfurling its petals. Dean had tried to protect him from that poisonous bouquet when they were younger. But what was to happen when there was no one there to protect him? Only those who presented him with deceptively beautiful buds? 

 

Purple, yellow, green, and red. Black. Small blooms and large ones, some in the shape of a fist.

 

The worst in the shape of fingerprints.

  
  
  
  
  


Dean liked to think he’d make a good spy.

 

He was good at lurking in shadows and reading lips. He was good at watching through windows.

 

He also liked to think that he wasn’t a stalker, but that wasn’t quite true either.

 

It’s not that he didn’t trust Castiel, it’s just that he wanted to make sure he was alright. And if the dinner ended up going fine, then Dean swore he would never even show his face, never let Castiel even know he was there.

 

But it wasn’t going fine. 

 

Ever since Castiel had sat down at the corner booth, he’d looked uncomfortable and oddly frightened, like something might bite him if he wasn’t careful.

 

Balthazar, from what Dean could make out through the frosted glass of the cafe’s window, was tall and handsome in the peculiar artist way: penniless chic, but it was obvious that every item of clothing he wore cost more than Dean’s car. He wore a soft gray t-shirt with a deep v-neck under a dark overcoat, his legs encased in black skinny jeans. The cafe didn’t serve alcoholic beverages, and it was obvious that Balthazar wasn’t used to that because he was stirring his water with his pinky seductively. 

 

Dean realized with a jolt that it must have been Castiel who had arranged this meeting, because Balthazar would never settle for such a quaint, lovely, Cas-like joint. He wouldn’t have set foot in a place that didn’t serve cocktails if he didn’t have a reason to.

 

Castiel was sitting stiffly in his chair, facing away from Dean, so Dean could see his hands clasped tight behind his chair, shaking slightly. At first Balthazar was flirting heavily, leering and tonguing his teeth at Castiel lewdly. But after a couple of minutes of enduring the advances of the blonde man, Castiel opened his mouth to speak, and Dean could just  _ feel  _ the mood shift. Balthazar’s eyebrow raised in disbelief, an angry blush rising to his cheeks and he sat straighter in his chair. He frowned deeply and kept opening his mouth to speak, but Castiel would shake his head and silence him, continuing to talk.

 

At this point, Balthazar was fuming in anger and he raised his hand to motion a waitress over, relaying his order quickly, eyes intense with ire. 

 

What struck Dean though, was the way Castiel visibly flinched as soon as Balthazar raised his hand. Everything he knew about Balthazar and Castiel’s relationship rushed through Dean at once. How Balthazar cheated, multiple times. How much Meg hated him. How everyone said their relationship wasn’t healthy.

 

How Castiel was so scared here, how he had insisted to Dean that he needed to see him to prove to him that he couldn’t control him anymore.

 

How he flinched when Balthazar raised his hand.

 

And then Dean was transported back to when he and Castiel were becoming friends again, the smell of sugar and apples in the air, decadent and lovely and…

 

_ The bruises on Castiel’s hips.  _

 

_ ‘A trick of the light’ _

 

_ Bruises in the shapes of fingerprints. _

 

Dean wanted to beat that son of a bitch until he bled every color of bruise he’d inflicted on Castiel. Because Balthazar, besides being a pompous prick, was an  _ abusive  _ pompous prick. How could Dean not have noticed it? How could anyone not have? And if they had noticed, why had they not  _ done _ anything? How could they not have defended Castiel, helped him,  _ protected him _ ?

 

A venomous thought creeped into Dean’s head.  _ Maybe Castiel hadn’t wanted to be saved. _

 

Well, too bad. Castiel had saved Dean’s life, freed him from his childhood of pain and sorrow. 

 

If Dean didn’t help Castiel now, he wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself, he knew that. He had left Castiel one too many times already. This wasn’t going to be added to that list.

 

Dean stood up sharply from his hiding place, scaring a poor blonde waitress so much she spilled coffee on herself. Dean offered her an apologetic smile as he strode into the cafe, his gait purposeful and intimidating as he came up to Castiel and Balthazar’s table, coming to a stop directly behind Castiel. Castiel didn’t notice Dean’s presence, but Balthazar certainly did, giving Dean an appreciative once-over that made Dean’s skin crawl. 

 

Balthazar cut off Castiel’s speech with a wolf-whistle and smirk. “Who’s pretty little green eyes, here?” He asked, accent as preposterous — and sadly, authentic — as Dean had guessed. 

 

Castiel turned, eyebrows knitting in confusion, as he saw Dean standing behind him. “Dean?” His voice was an odd mixture of relief and concern.

 

“Cas.” Dean’s mouth was in a grim line. “C’mon, we’re leaving.” Dean hesitantly sought out Castiel’s still shaking hand, taking it with his own. “You don’t have to spend another second with this creep.”

 

“Oh?” Balthazar’s eyebrow quirked up. “Isn’t that Cassie’s call?”

 

“What are you doing here, Dean?” Castiel asked, bewildered.

 

“I’m here because you save me everyday, Cas. Let me save you this one time,” Dean stated, gaze hard on Balthazar’s causal one.

 

Castiel’s cheeks colored, his eyes widening in surprise.

 

“This is touching, truly, but Cassie and I are trying to have a dignified conversation, and you don’t seem to be contributing to that conversation in any meaningful way. Say, Cassie, I think you were at the part where I was an awful human being.” His tone was playful, but his voice rang with authority.

 

Dean could feel Castiel’s hands begin to shake again.

 

“How about I help him finish? Go to hell, you son of a bitch.” Dean growled.

 

“I’m hurt, Dean,” Balthazar placed a hand to his heart, feigning woundedness, then laughed once. It made Dean even angrier that it was beautiful, like the resounding call of a bell. “Please. I’ve been called much worse by far more frightening people.”

 

“Cas, come on. Let’s go.” Dean’s voice was iron and ice, frigid and strong.

 

“Are you going to let him tell you what to do, Cassie?” Balthazar asked. He paused a moment appraising Dean. “He’s demanding, I like that. You certainly do have a type… is he your boyfriend?”

 

“I’m his best friend,” Dean said, gripping Castiel’s hand tighter.

 

“But you’d like to be more, right? You’d like to be  _ more _ than just friends.” Balthazar looked between the two of them knowingly. “He’s making you wait, isn’t he? I’m not good about waiting.” Balthazar removed his pinky from the water glass to lick the dripping liquid sensually from his finger. “Sometimes I just  _ take _ .”

 

Dean grit his teeth. “You sick bastard.”

 

“Perhaps,” Balthazar considered. “But wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like? To make him purr, to make him  _ scream _ ?” Balthazar’s grin was wolfish. “He tastes like strawberries and cream when he cries.” Balthazar licked his lips like he was tasting the memory of Castiel, and Dean shivered involuntarily in horror and disgust.

 

The thought that this man,  _ this monster _ , knew what Castiel tasted like made Dean want to vomit.

 

“He has these  _ beautiful _ thighs, so wonderful sometimes you just can’t resist a  _ bite _ -”

 

“Stop it!” Castiel shouted, pushing back from the table suddenly. He drew in a breath, and the whole restaurant was dead silent. “You are going to be  _ quiet  _ now.”

 

Dean couldn’t remember ever hearing Castiel so forceful and assertive.

 

Balthazar was quiet.

 

Castiel pulled a letter out of his pocket using the hand that wasn’t holding Dean’s and placed it on the table in front of Balthazar. “Read it,” was all Castiel said.

 

Balthazar drew in a breath once he saw who the letter was from, and as he read it, his features began to convey his anger. “What the hell is this?”

 

“My brother is friends with the gallery director you’re signed with. In fact, he’s friends with all the gallery directors in the area. It’s a theater major thing.” His voice was slick and calm, and Dean was struck by just how powerful his friend really was. To be here, to be confronting this horror, and to be doing it in such a poised manner. The only indication that this was painful for Castiel was how tightly he was gripping Dean’s hand. “So, Balthazar, if you were thinking about living in Sioux Falls again, then you’ll need to reconsider your options. I suggest somewhere very cold and very far away.”

 

Balthazar was speechless.

 

“I think you should pack your bags immediately. Gabriel is also friends with the hotel owners in the area.” Castiel said. “Let’s go, Dean.”

 

Castiel was leading Dean out, Dean in a shocked haze, when Balthazar shouted after them.

 

“This changes nothing! This won’t ever fix what I took!” he yelled, notes of hilarity and superiority edging into his tone.

 

“What’s he talking about?” Dean whispered.

 

“My first time.” Castiel ducked his head.

 

“It was him?” Dean asked, disgust crawling up his spine.

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Castiel muttered, almost ashamedly. “He took it.”

 

“What?” Dean eyes were blown wide in horror and shock. “Cas, you should press charges!”

 

“I can’t,” Castiel said. “No proof left, it’s been too long.”

 

Dean felt his fists ball, his anger boiling over. Castiel tugged on his hand, forcing him to still. “Dean, he isn’t worth it,” Castiel said.

 

“No, he isn’t,” Dean agreed. “But you are.”

 

With that, he marched over to a smug Balthazar and punched him squarely in the eye, much to the shock of the rest of the clientele. 

 

Dean caught Castiel’s hand and started walking out of the cafe. He looked over at Castiel and his precious blue eyes, and kissed him gently on the cheek. “You are worth everything, Cas. I’m so sorry he took those things from you.”

 

Castiel nodded. “I’m sorry those things were taken from you too.”

 

Dean nodded tersely, briefly pressing his eyes closed to dispel the phantom touches of unknown men. The things that were stolen from the two of them were precious, precious things, but together they would get them back. Together they would make treasures of their own.

 

They blew out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk, hand in hand, the night air ripping at their clothes, but their hands warm.

 

Castiel finally spoke when they were two blocks away from the restaurant. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re wonderful,” Dean whispered, almost revertly. “Seriously, facing up to that… god. I’m so sorry, Cas, I wish I had known, that I had helped.”

 

“None of that was supposed to be his,” Castiel said. “He wasn’t supposed to have that.”

 

The  _ “You were.”  _ was unsaid, but even more meaningful than it would have been if he had spoken it.

 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said, biting back tears in the chill.

 

“I’m cold,” was Castiel’s reply. 

 

Castiel directed Dean arm around him, holding the hand that hung from his shoulder. Castiel snuggled into Dean’s warm side as the strolled down the pavement. Collectively, they pushed aside their worries. There was no room for horrors when they glowed together.

 

“It’s snowing,” Dean observed, holding his palm out to catch the sparkling flakes of snow.

 

“It is!” Castiel’s face broke into a grin. “God, I love snow.”

 

“Have you ever tried catching some on your tongue?” Dean asked.

 

“What? No! You can do that?” Castiel asked.

 

“Stick your tongue out,” Dean said. “And just wait.”

 

Castiel did as Dean said and flinched at the sensation of snow on his tongue. “That’s so weird!”

 

“But fun, right?” Dean said, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder.

 

“Sometimes I think I’m like a snowflake,” Castiel mused, reaching his bare palm out to catch more flakes.

 

“Why?” Dean asked. “Because you’re stunningly beautiful and unique?”

 

“No!” Castiel snorted. “Because I’m always falling.”

 

_ Fallen angel.  _ “I’ll catch you,” Dean said.

 

Castiel leaned forward and rested his forehead against Dean’s, closing his eyes. “You already have.”

 

Dean wanted desperately to kiss Castiel then, but he held back.

 

_ Not yet _ .

 

Instead, he relished the darkening sky, the world shrouded in the descent of cleansing white, and the pressure of Castiel’s forehead against his own.

 

Green eyes met blue, and for a moment, the world was perfectly silent, the only noise the thrumming of two hearts beating as one.

[](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=2v2fe4i)  


  
  
  
  
  
  


“It’s fucking cold out there!” Dean laughed, shedding his soaked jacket.

 

Castiel snorted in response and reached out to touch the leather jacket. “Damn, you’re soaked!”

 

Dean leaned forward and ran his hand down the sleeve of Castiel’s trench coat. “How are you dry?”

 

“Magic,” Castiel answered as Dean hung up his leather jacket on the coat rack. 

 

They were at the only Starbucks in Sioux Falls, getting hot drinks at an ungodly hour of the morning. They had both woken up incredibly early and this Starbucks was the only place open at this time of day.

 

Dean and Castiel ambled up to the counter, grinning and shoving each other’s shoulders. As they reached the counter, Dean took Castiel’s hand and held it tightly.

 

“I’ll get a coffee, black, and he’ll have a hot chocolate,” Dean addressed the blonde behind the counter, whose name tag read  _ Hester _ . 

 

“Do you want whip cream on that?” Hester asked, her voice sugary sweet.

 

“Yes,” Castiel said, voice grave as if his drink order was of the utmost cosmic importance.

 

Hester rang up their drink order, and Dean swiped his card. Before they could walk over to the pick-up side of the counter though, Hester spoke. 

 

“I hate to pry, but you two are such a cute couple! How long have you been together?” Hester asked, leaning over the counter with her head in her hands. Clearly, she yearned for romance, and ate up any bit she found elsewhere. Dean would bet good money that all she watched were rom-coms.

 

“Oh, we aren’t together,” Dean said.

 

Hester’s face fell. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry-”

 

“No, it’s okay. I’m in love with him, though,” Dean said.

 

Castiel ducked his head, cheeks burning. “Dean…” he warned.

 

“Really?” Hester said, perking up again.

 

“It’s okay, someday he’ll give in. I’m in this for the long haul,” Dean grinned, offering Hester a thumbs-up.

 

“Dean, shut up,” Castiel groaned.

 

“You see, Hester, Cas here is the most incredible-” Dean was cut off by Castiel’s lips pressing against his, swiftly shutting him up in shock.

 

“I’m sorry, my boyfriend’s an idiot. We’ve been together for fourteen years.” Castiel said, an easy smile gracing his lips.

 

_ Fourteen years? _

 

_ Since they were nine years old. _

 

“That’s so cute!” Hester smiled. “I’ll go get your drinks, lovebirds!”

 

Dean stood, shock-still, death-gripping Castiel’s hand.

 

Castiel had the indecency to look  _ smug _ . “What’s wrong, Dean? You seem surprised.”

 

Dean managed a laugh. “You son of a bitch,” he muttered, grabbing Castiel by the lapels of his stupid trench coat and catching his lips for a searing kiss.

 

And  _ this _ , this was  _ everything _ . Even more heavy with emotion than his first kiss with Castiel, filled with every pent-up bit of longing and love Dean had ever packed away. Every second of fear and doubt was dissipating between Castiel’s lips. He was forgetting himself in the lush lips of his lover, forgetting every moment of self-loathing and repressed truth. He promised him, there and then, with Castiel’s tongue dancing with his own, that he would rewrite himself in every inch of Castiel’s skin he offered, show him how much he loved him in every kiss, every touch. 

 

This kiss felt cosmic, like every atom in Dean Winchester was singing in relief and ecstasy. Nothing, Dean knew, would ever compare to this moment, of Castiel Novak kissing him in the middle of a Starbucks in the god-forsaken hours of the morning. Nothing would compare to the moment he knew that loving someone meant something. 

 

When Castiel pulled back, Dean started to cry, big rollicking tears of emotion, and Castiel kissed them all away.

 

“I love you,” Dean whispered.

 

He felt his heart stop at the silence that followed, then his heart break when Castiel started to laugh. Dean looked up in shock to see that Castiel wasn’t mocking him, he was crying too. Crying and laughing, in happiness.

 

“I love you too,” Castiel said. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Dean Winchester, and I have since I was nine years old.”

 

Dean laughed then too, and then they were holding each other, embracing and sobbing and whispering vows of love as Hester observed, cooing in admiration as their drinks cooled on the counter.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Sammy!” Dean was in the bathroom, jumping up and down in excitement. “Sammy, pick up!”

 

The phone rang a few more times, and then someone picked up. A voice that was definitely not Sam’s said, “Hello?”

 

Dean looked down at the phone, checking that the number was correct. “Sammy?” 

 

“Sam!” the voice called. “It’s your hot parental guardian!”

 

“Don’t call my brother that, Gabriel!” a voice that was definitely Sam’s called. “Give me the phone!”

 

“Will you say please?” Gabriel sing-songed.

 

A quick skirmish ensued, or that’s what it sounded like from Dean’s end of the phone. Dean was getting impatient when he heard a slightly wet smacking noise and made a face. 

 

“Gross! Please, no one wants to hear you kissing, especially not me!” Dean complained.

 

“Unless you have better news that involves kissing, then we’ll bid you adieu,” Gabriel said, sounding breathless.

 

“I do, in fact!” Dean said.

 

“Really?” Sam said. Dean tried his very best to ignore that his brother was panting slightly. 

 

“Yes, I do. Cas and I are dating,” Dean said, a smug grin on his face.

 

“ _ What? _ ” came Sam’s shocked reply, as something loud and heavy, presumably Sam, fell off of something and hit something else.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asked.

 

Sam sounded sheepish. “I fell off the bed.”

 

“ _ Bed? _ ” Dean was starting to taste sick in his mouth, unwittingly thinking of whatever his younger brother and Gabriel might have been doing in bed. “Nevermind! Yeah, we’re uh… dating.”

 

“Holy shit, Dean! That’s awesome!” Sam squealed.

 

“It is! I’m… damn. I’m happy.” Dean grinned, running a hand through his hair.

 

“You should tell him about the letter,” Gabriel said.

 

“Shut up!” Sam hissed.

 

“What letter?” Dean asked, eyebrows drawing together.

 

“There’s no letter, Gabriel’s just getting senile with old age,” Sam said hurriedly, before calling out an, “Ow! Don’t kick me! That’s rude!”

 

“I’m not senile!” Gabriel insisted. “I’m aging well. Like a fine wine. Or a cheese.”

 

“What letter?” Dean asked, firmer this time.

 

“Any chance we could let this go?” Sam pleaded.

 

“None,” Dean said. “What letter?”

 

Dean heard Sam swallow before he spoke. “Remember when I came over to your dorm two years ago? And I cleaned your room?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean said.

 

“And you had me mail all your bills.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Not all of them were bills, as you probably found out. I found a… love letter,” Sam said. “The one you wrote to Cas.”

 

“And?” Dean asked, knowing what came next.

 

“And I read it,” Sam said. “Dean, you were so unhappy. And so desperately in love with him, I couldn’t bear to see you like that.”

 

Dean gritted his teeth. “So?”

 

“So I sent it.”

 

“Sam!” Dean couldn’t control his outburst. “That was the worst day of my entire life.”

 

“Really?” Gabriel asked. “Honestly, Dean, I’m sure there were worse. Your life is like one emotional breakdown after another.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam apologized. “But I had too-”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean said with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “That was the best day of my life, too. Because I got Cas back, just a little bit, that day.”

 

“Oh, Dean…” Sam’s voice was taffy soft.

 

“Thank you,” Dean said, his voice genuine. “I’m still pissed at you for meddling, but you saved my life, Sammy. I love him, and he loves me. So, it’s good.”

 

“Good,” Sam said. 

 

“Alright, I should get back to Cas. I’ll call you again soon, okay?” Dean said with a smile.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Alright, bye,” Dean said.

 

“Bye, Dean.” 

 

“Bitch.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“God, you two are so disgustingly butch! Can’t you show your love for each other without cursing-” Gabriel’s rant was cut off by Sam hanging up.

 

Dean left the bathroom with a smile, rejoining Castiel at the table they had shared since sunrise and their confessions of love.

 

Dean took a sip of his coffee. “I think our brothers are dating.”

 

“About time,” Castiel grinned, playfully hitting the rim of his drink against Dean’s.

 

“They said the same thing about us,” Dean said.

 

Castiel laughed, and Dean set down his drink, leaning into to kiss Castiel.

 

Castiel tasted like chocolate.

 

“I love you,” Dean whispered.

 

“I love you too, you assbutt.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you thought by leaving me a comment or kudos! I craze validation and feedback, so please humor me.   
> I love you all, and thank you for reading!  
> Kisses,  
> Chattre


End file.
